


Curse of the Headless Horseman

by irishlullaby13



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Apocalypse, F/M, Gen, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-06 11:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4220643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishlullaby13/pseuds/irishlullaby13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod Crane is researching the truth about a strange curse that is said to plague his family line.  With the help of the lovely Lieutenant Abbie Mills, can he unravel the truth behind the Headless Horseman before it's too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of two plot bunnies scampering around in my head. Not really 100% sure where it's going just yet. Not sure if it's going to be shippy or not (probably around the same level as the show itself though).

Getting settled into a new home was by far the least settling thing he had ever done, even if it were under the protection of a petite uniformed officer named Abigail Mills. He found her likeable enough to not mind her silence too terribly, in fact, he rather liked her silence considering Sheriff Corbin had been irritatingly talkative.

You see, dear friends, one Ichabod Crane travelled from his native home in which he was a renowned genealogist and historian. It had been his pursuit of knowledge which led him to take his current sabbatical to America, where he had traced his roots to a family sire that bore his own name. Just as his predecessor bore his name, he was also an Oxford scholar, which made the former Ichabod Crane a sort of inspiration to the current one.

He had grown up hearing tales of how a headless horseman pursued any Crane heir that dared to venture to the small town of Sleepy Hollow, New York. _Population: 144,001_ as of his arrival. Of course he believed it to simply be a metaphorical pursuit as the headless man defied the very laws of nature and were nothing more than a quirk of his family history. He was certain that if he dug deep enough, he would find his namesake suffered from delusions or had been affected by some sort of food borne illness which had hallucinogenic properties.

Despite his protests, his family had insisted upon making arrangements with the local police to make sure he retained his head for the duration of his scheduled seven years of research. After all, there was much more history to his family in the colonies that he desired to learn and the initial two years he had planned would simply not be enough. It may be enough for the basic foray into learning about the legend of the horseman, but nowhere near enough to research his family.

"Do you know anything of the legends of the headless horseman, Lieutenant Mills?" Ichabod asked as he carefully placed unboxed items in a predetermined place on his desk. He wanted to make sure his set up was precisely that which he had back home to inhibit homesickness.

The tiny woman pushed herself away from the wall she had been leaning again. She blinked as though he had awakened her from a nap. "Excuse me?" she asked. 

"The headless horseman," he repeated. "Do you know anything of the legends? I intend to do my dissertation on the mythos which surrounds it."

The woman hid a yawn as she shifted her body to work out the strains she had been putting on her body during her rest. "Are you kidding?" she said with a grin. "There's an entire museum dedicated to the legend. That would probably be the best place to start. We also have yearly events at Halloween that play it up, so you arrived at a good time." She eased herself into a chair across from him. "And the sheriff wanted me to make sure you had access to anything you might need in our archives."

Ichabod felt himself smile. "Whilst I do intend to peruse the archives and museum records... my query was to what you knew of the legends."

Lieutenant Mills leaned forward to rest her elbows on her thighs. "Well, Professor Crane, I once did a little research into the legend myself. It's sort of a big deal around here after all, so almost everyone has at least a small connection to it. My family had a major connection to the legend. One of my ancestors served as a protector for the Crane family. Legends say she was a witch with incredible powers and that fate had ordained her and your ancestor with protecting mankind from the apocalypse."

"And here our families are, once again, working together," Ichabod said. "Although, I fear, for a much more mundane task."

"You'll learn that Sleepy Hollow is far from mundane, Professor," she said.

Ichabod chucked lightly. "I hardly foresee any sort of true excitement taking place in such a _quaint_ place."

A knock sounded on the door. "Shift change, Mills," a muffled voice said from the other side.

Lieutenant Mills looked over her shoulder. "Oh well. Our time is done, Professor. If you need anything just let Morales know, Brooks should be relieving him around midnight," she said as she stood up. 

"Perhaps you could start me on my journey in the morning, Lieutenant," Ichabod offered. "That is, of course, if you will be the one on duty at that time."

"I'm scheduled to watch over you for the next three days, eight to four," the woman provided and she pulled herself from the chair. "It was nice talking with you and... standing around watching you unpack all day."

"And I enjoyed your company, Lieutenant," Ichabod said with a humbled bow of his head.

"We're going to be seeing a lot of each other in the times to come," she said. "May as well get ourselves on a first name basis. Feel free to call me Abbie."

"Only if you refer to me as Ichabod," he replied with a gentle smile.

"Consider it done, Ichabod," Abbie said with a teasing grin. She turned and strode purposely to the door. She put her hand on her gun as she peered out of the spyhole. "Confirm your identity."

"Seriously Abbie?" Luke's annoyed voice said from the other side of the door.

"Use the code or I will shoot you through the door, Morales," Abbie replied.

Ichabod shook his head, amused by the banter between the two officers. The man on the other side of the door groaned with annoyance but gave the code, nonetheless. Abbie yanked the door open and let her relieving officer in. They swapped trivial details of what was to be done while on the shift. Abbie gave him a quick smile and wave before she disappeared out of the door.

"She's a likeable lady," Morales said, walking over to claim the seat Abbie had been in. 

"Indeed she is," Ichabod said, concentrating on the positioning a cup of pens on his desk. "I was especially fond of her habit of not trying to engage me in idle chit chat." He gave the cup a 1/4 of a turn, bringing the handle even with a stack of triangle coasters. _Perfect_. "I have research to get started."

He pulled a pen from the cup and clicked it. He gave Morales a forced smile and the other man nodded in understanding. "I'll just keep watch at the door."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did a few updates to the story information. Which means... yes there will be some Ichabbie shipping going on in this story. How much, how detailed, not sure yet. Rating may or may not go up in a future chapter.

Ichabod awoke to the very odd feeling that he was being watched. 

When he glanced at this alarm clock, he saw that it was fifteen minutes until Lieutenant Mills came on duty. His first few days had proven quite enjoyable because of her company, but then she had to take two days off and he had to suffer Sheriff Corbin's talking whilst he poured over large tomes he had acquired from the library.

It was during those two days Abbie had been off that he started feeling like he was being watched. Perhaps it was his nerves getting the better of him, considering he had been reading extensively on the legends surrounding the decapitated spectre. Or it could have been the petite black cat that had taken to sleeping outside his window.

He rolled over and looked out the windows. He had yet to obtain curtains so the sun filtered in to greet him. The cat was lounged in the window, just as it had been the past few days, it's golden eyes gently opened and intent on him. Morning dew clung to its fur, indicating that perhaps it had been there for the better part of the night.

Ichabod pulled his lanky frame from the bed and walked over to the window. He tapped the window and the cat startled. Its ears laid back. The creature leapt from the window and disappeared from sight, as was customary for his morning routine.

He decided he needed to get prepared for his day, so he could be ready to go once Abbie arrived. She was most helpful in helping him in his research. When he got her to talking about the legends and tales of the Headless Horseman, it was almost as though she had actually been there and seen it happen. She spoke of the chain of events as fact as opposed to fiction.

Although, he had discovered most of the town referred to the legends as fact. That alone was interesting facet in his research. It made the town of Sleepy Hollow seem a little less quaint and more quirky. 

It was already past eight when he exited his bedroom. Officer Brooks was still lounging by the door, looking bored and annoyed. Ichabod looked at his watch to confirm the time. "Where is Lieutenant Mills? She was supposed to arrive six minutes ago."

Brooks scowled. "She's running late. Blew a tire on her way to work. But she should be here soon."

It was almost half-past the hour before the lieutenant arrived. She look mildly dishevelled and like she had already used the maximum of her energy for the day. "Sorry I'm late," she said with a heavy sigh, upon her arrival. She then gave Brooks a small smack in the back of the head. "Why didn't you follow procedure for letting me in?"

Officer Brooks shot a dirty look in the lieutenant's direction. "Corbin said it was useless. If the Horseman decides to come after him, he'll just break down the door."

"Lieutenant, if you could permit me," Ichabod injected. "I made the request that the code words and etcetera be eliminated. You will have to forgive my family back home. I fear they are being overly protective of me considering, over the past 250 years, any male Crane that ventured into this town met their untimely demise at the hands of this fabled Horseman." He lowered his eyes to the floor. "I am hopeful, once I speak to them this evening, I can drastically reduce the amount of coverage I am receiving. It's quite embarrassing that I cannot go anywhere without armed police escort. And to be honest, I feel it makes me a more visible target than anything."

Abbie nudged Brooks, who seemed to have nodded off, with her foot. The young gentleman startled and rubbed his eyes. "Get on home Andy. I got it from here."

Brooks yawned and stretched before standing up. "See ya later, Abs."

Once the young man had departed, Abbie put her hands in her pockets and gave Ichabod a friendly smile. "So, what all did you find while I was out?" she asked, planting herself in her usual seat across from him at the desk.

Ichabod studied her for a moment. Something was amiss with her appearance. "You're out of uniform," he stated blandly.

Abbie looked down at her clothes. "Yeah I had to put on my spare clothes because I got messy changing a tire." She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the desk. "You're mad at me for being late. I get it. You like your routine and for the past two days you've had to do things differently."

"You've only known me a grand total of five days, two of which you were not here," Ichabod stated. "How could you possibly make such an accusation?"

Abbie sat back in her seat, folding her arms over her chest. "Because it's all anyone can talk about... you're really getting on their nerves." She tilted her head, a small smile appearing at the corner of her mouth. She leaned forward again, reached over his desk and delicately flicked the handle of the cup he kept his pens in. "I dare you to not fix it until my shift is over."

Ichabod stared at he askew cup and drew in a deep breath. When he looked at Abbie, there was amusement dancing in her eyes. "The position of that cup is of no consequence to me, Abbie. However, what is, is that you promised to show me some of the bridges of Sleepy Hollow that are associated with the Horseman as well as going for a walk through the cemeteries to see if I could fill in some gaps on people of import for my dissertation."

"All right but we'll need to get some coffee before heading that way. I didn't get much sleep last night," Abbie said. 

"You will not hear an utterance of objection from me on that matter, Lieutenant," Ichabod said. 

Abbie pulled her keys from her pocket. "Let's get going then, Professor." As soon as she stood and turned away, Ichabod discretely fixed the position of the cup and followed her out the door.

  
##  


"So, Grace Dixon brought my namesake's son into the world," Ichabod said, mulling over the documents Abbie had from her own research, over lunch at the diner.

"Like I said, my family and yours always seemed to be helping each other out," Abbie said, her eyes on the steaming cup of coffee in her hands. She turned her attention to the window and stared out of it, her face blank of any emotion. 

"According to this, one Grace Foster was of vital assistance to the last Crane to venture to Sleepy Hollow," Ichabod said. "Apparently, if she hadn't been knocked unconscious, Mr. Crane would not have lost his head."

Ichabod raised his head to look at Abbie. She was still gazing out of the window, lost in thought, when Ichabod raised his head. She was lightly fingering a sparkling gem at her throat. "That is a lovely opal you are wearing."

Abbie shook her head to clear it and blinked at him. "Op-- Oh, no, no... It's a moonstone, actually," she said with a fond smile. "Although the person that got it for me thought it was an opal too." She lowered her lashes as her finger stroked the curve of the gemstone.

"So where is the gentleman which gifted you such a fine trinket?" Ichabod asked. She raised her eyes at him with a look of danger in them. He realized he may have been mistaken in his assumptions about the lovely lieutenant. "Or... lady... partner?"

Abbie laughed heartily. "It was a gentleman," she replied, her eyes dancing merrily. Her laughter and smile faded. "He... gave it to me as an engagement... type thing. Then his family refused to let us be together and I refused to let him get disinherited just to be with me."

"You're a lovely person, why ever would they not allow it?" Ichabod asked. 

The young woman scoffed bitterly. "They were very _well to-do_ people. They thought the little boy they had bred for political power shouldn't be with a black girl. He... wanted to stay with me but I wasn't having it. He had worked too hard to throw everything away." She stroked the stone gently. "He... got married to someone his family approved of. Then about six months later he showed up at my door saying he couldn't handle it anymore. He _begged_ me to take him back. He loved me... He... was willing to throw everything away... Just to be with me." She sighed heavily. "But... he died before he could get the divorce."

"I'm sorry," Ichabod said quietly.

Abbie searched his face for something, he wasn't sure. It was almost as though she were expecting to find the answer to a dark secret in his own mind. Although, he could hardly fathom what kind of answers he could have for her situation. He had been of the understanding that something as simple as skin colour was of no consequence in this modern day and age. But, he supposed there were yet a few elitists around.

Although he could only imagine the horror her former lovers' parents suffered when their son had brought home the petite lieutenant with her leather jacket, skin tight jeans, and street smarts. If it had been his son, he would have commended him on finding happiness with someone that offered a counter-balance to the sterile blandness of aristocracy. More importantly, he would have been glad his child had simply found happiness.

"It was a long time ago," Abbie said softly, then took a drink of her coffee. She drew in a deep breath. "What about you? Heartbreaks? Wife? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?"

Ichabod shook his head. "None. I'm afraid I am sorely... unskilled in matters of the heart. I'm less likely to attempt to speak to someone which catches my eye than to stare at them, dumbfounded, and speaking intelligible gibberish whilst dribbling on my shirt." He felt his face grow warm as he realized the implications of his admission. "Not that I... have... never... because I have... and..." 

At least he managed to stop himself before he descended _completely_ into "intelligible gibberish". It was something that had taken him a lifetime to manage. He stared at his reflection in his coffee, grinding his teeth together to keep from saying anything further for the time being. He only looked up when he heard Abbie laugh softly.

"You were doing fine until just then," she teased, tilting her head playfully.

Ichabod huffed in annoyance with himself. This time he made certain to mentally think each word before opening his mouth to say it. "There. Are. Precious. Few. Which. I. Have. Managed. To. Feel..." He searched his mind for the word he was seeking. "... At ease with. Enough to. Carry on. A legitimate. Conversation."

He then made himself look busy by drinking his coffee. Once the cup was empty, he put his attention back on the documents. "Enough personal chat, I think. Is your great grandmother buried in one of Sleepy Hollow's cemeteries?"

She was about to answer when her mobile phone began to chime. Abbie held up a finger and answered it. "This is Lieutenant Mills," she intoned to whomever was on the other end. She scrunched her face in disgust. "I was only thirty minutes late sir, he's just being a--" Her eyes darted to Ichabod, he smirked in amusement. "Yes sir. Yes sir. No sir. Well he can kindly kiss something, sir. Yes, sir, some place the sun doesn't shine. No sir, I do not mind. Tell him his skinny little asian-- Sorry, sir, that was uncalled for. I'll call Jenny and have her take him something. If he's lucky it won't be flowers for his grave. No sir that is not a threat."

Something about her tone said the last statement had been more of a promise. The remainder of the conversation was little more than tight-lipped "Mm-Hmm's" until she hung up.

Abbie sighed heavily. "Sorry about that, Ichabod," she said. "Brooks, apparently, called out for this evening. Said he wasn't feeling well after having to stay over this morning." She rolled her eyes and shook her head. " _However_ , Corbin has already talked things over with Morales and instead of relieving me at four, he will be coming on duty tonight at nine."

"I fear people may begin chin wagging about the amount of time in which you and I spend together in public," Ichabod commented. "Especially should you leave my home at such an hour."

"They know better than to gossip about me," Abbie replied, her tone level and, if he wasn't mistaken, having a hint of threat to it. She looked up at the waitress as she delivered a slice of pie with ice cream. "Isn't that right?"

The waitress grinned wickedly. "That they do Miss Abbie," the young woman drawled. "Can I get y'all anything else?"

"Just the check, please," Abbie said. When the waitress walked away, she looked back to Ichabod. "Yes. My family has been being buried in Sleepy Hollow for many generations."

Ichabod shifted through some of the records. He paused when he saw an old sepia photo in the section for Miss Grace Foster. It was an elegant woman in late Victorian dress, probably from some time in 1910s. Her head was high underneath a wide, flowery, and elaborate hat, with a gaze of authority in her eyes. Ichabod held up the picture to compare it to the young woman across from him. "The resemblance is remarkable."

The woman in the picture and Abbie looked exactly the same, Ichabod noticed. And it wasn't in that quirky manner in which family members look similar. It literally looked as if someone had put Abbie in Victorian clothes and took a photo of her. Even the eyes looked as though they held secrets she didn't want anyone to know.

Abbie's eyes widened and she snatched the photo away from him. "I... didn't realize they had a photo on file." She started gathering all the files into a neat pile, slipping the photo back into its folder. "We can pour over the rest of this once we get back from the cemetery."

Her reaction to the photo seemed somewhat odd. It wasn't exactly unheard of for people to resemble a predecessor. He, himself, was said to bare a striking resemblance to his namesake. Of course he had never really been able to confirm that, considering there was not any kind of surviving images of the man.

Ichabod pushed his musings aside as Abbie paid the tab and decided to revisit the thoughts after she left for the night. Although, he felt that maybe the answers to any questions he had laid in the stack of information he still had yet to look through. 

But for now, it was time for research.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie has a vision of things to come while Ichabod debates the idea of the supernatural being real. And a crafty feline makes herself at home in Ichabod's apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I have mapped things out a little so I know where it's going now at least. As such it shouldn't take me long between updates. Thanks to everyone who is reading, reviewing, and/or dropping the kudos'. :)

Ichabod awoke to a rough tongue licking his neck, just below his beard. Tiny claws kneaded his shoulder. He made an objecting sound but let the little cat continue nonetheless. "Gracie," he murmured. "I'm awake. You can stop whenever it appeases you."

The little black cat lifted her her and looked quite pleased with herself.

Just two days past, he had managed to lure the little black cat into his apartment. It had been a combination of the creature turning her nose up at even the best priced cat foods available and Abbie suggesting the offer of freshly smoked salmon that had earned him the companionship of the petite cat.

The smoked salmon did the trick and it seemed that was all she liked to eat. According to neighbours she was a bit of a community cat, so odds were favourable she got food elsewhere if he refused to adhere to her demands. After all, she looked well fed. And, as long as he let her outside when she wanted to go, he didn't have to worry about her trying to destroy everything.

When he sat up, Gracie bound off of the bed. She started meowing and whirled around his feet when they hit the floor. "I'm up, I'm up," he grumbled, looking at the clock. It was fifteen past seven. In a little under two hours, Abbie would be arriving to take him out and about.

He had appealed to his family and had managed to put an end to the police observation. However, at his family's insistence, the police at least drove by while on their patrols. This had the rather undesired effect that he was no longer able to spend the better part of his day convening with Abbie. But she at least stopped by for brief periods every day and they had arranged to explore Sleepy Hollow on her days off.

And today was a Thursday, the first of two days the lieutenant had off. Two days until Halloween, which the town was putting on quite the show thus far.

Ichabod looked over at the bedroom door when it started rattling. Gracie was trying to dig her way out, shredding the carpeting in the process. With a grumble, he got up, let her out of the room, and followed her to the entry door. However, at the last second she weaved towards his desk. "Gracie, no," he scolded as she hopped onto the desk. 

She narrowed her golden eyes. Then promptly swiped her paw at his cup of pens, knocking it to the floor. 

Ichabod sighed with annoyance. "Experts can say what they will about cats not doing things out of revenge..." he grumbled as she bound to the door. "They have obviously never experienced you, Gracie."

It was her proclivity for knocking his pens off his desk that made made him name her Gracie. Abbie had a similar habit in the guise of shifting the position of his pen cup at any opportunity. And since things would get too confusing, he decided against naming her Abbie, so he went with the lieutenant's actual given name of Grace.

He let her out and she darted outside with a small meow of gratitude. Ichabod was retrieving his pens from the floor when his mobile phone began to serenade him with Nicki Minaj's version of Anaconda. "Abbie," he growled as he put the cup and pens on his desk haphazardly and strode to the kitchen where his phone had been on charge all night.

Since having the department no longer required for service, he had come to appreciate Miss Mills as a friend. As such which led him to some of her more interesting character traits, such as the ability to somehow change every name in his phone to Harry Potter characters and assigning each one their own ringing tone without his knowledge.

The number displayed under Miss Granger's name was an American one. That quickly narrowed it down to three people, two of which had no reason to call him at seven in the morning and one which knew his schedule.

"Miss Mills, how lovely to hear from you at such an early hour," he greeted. "Or shall I call you Miss Granger henceforth?"

"Henceforth?" Abbie replied. "Does anyone other than you still use that word?"

"I'm fairly certain, should you look in numerous legal documents you will still find it in wide use," Ichabod pointed out. "And how did you manage to change all of my contacts and ring tones again? I made certain I kept my phone on my person at all times whilst you were last around."

"A lady never reveals her secrets, Ichabod," Abbie teased. "I was wondering if you wanted to join me for a morning jog? I'm not too far from your apartment if you want me to swing by and pick you up."

Ichabod mulled it over for a moment. "While I do feel we have made incredible advances in our friendship, Miss Mills, I am afraid we are not yet at the level of comfort that permits your seeing me in gym shorts."

"That's a shame," she said with a soft hum of disappointment. "I'll see you in about two hours then."

  
##  


_Whilst she may not be fond of me, there is but one person I know I can trust with the son of Ichabod Crane. So it is with great trepidation and hope that I journey to the estate of Lachlan Fredericks to seek the help of the house matron, Grace Dixon. I pray I make it in time and I pray the gods forgive me for what is to come._  
  
Ichabod closed the journal. The tome was a journal of one of his ancestors, the wife of his namesake. Sheriff Corbin had been kind enough to provide it to Abbie since he knew they would be together on her days off. He was seated in front of a headstone baring the name of Abbie's ancestor, trying to decipher what had brought their two families together.

There was only brief mentionings in the journal of Katrina Crane.

Obviously, Miss Dixon was of import enough that the late Mrs. Crane entrusted her with her and his namesake's child. He reasoned that the tales of what had brought Miss Dixon and the late Mister Crane together could have at one time been on one of the pages which had been removed from the journal.

Ichabod looked around, hoping to locate Abbie. Perhaps she could give him some insight into the missing pages or perhaps something more she could share. She had wandered off towards the mausoleums shortly after arrival, leaving him to "visit" as it were. Although she had left him with a rather cryptic jest that, perhaps he could even speak to the late Grace Dixon since it was so close to Halloween.

He wasn't normally one to delve into superstitions, having long realized ghost stories and tales of the supernatural were mostly to teach children morals and keep them in line with fear of the unknown. But given the way Sleepy Hollow had steeped itself in the occult and legends, perhaps the combined mental determination of the citizens to believe it true could cause a spectre to appear. It was highly doubtful and improbable, but not outside of the realm of possibility.

Ichabod closed his eyes and concentrated on the name on the headstone. He wasn't entirely sure what to do but, an idea came to his mind to try. "I summon, Grace Dixon, house matron of Lachlan Fredericks..." He tried to imagine what Abbie's ancestor may have looked like. The best he could come up with was Abbie in colonial clothing. He supposed it could work. He concentrated on that image and repeated his summoning.

There was a soft thump close to him. Ichabod opened his eyes and looked down to see his little four-legged friend sitting in front of the tombstone. He sighed with annoyance. "What are you doing here?" She gave a soft purr and nudged his hand. "Is this what you do all day when you're not terrorising my desk?" he asked, rubbing her between the ears then rubbed the small white spot on her chest. "Unless you are secretly Grace Dixon, I fear my summoning was unsuccessful. I suppose it serves me right for veering from the path of logic and into superstition."

Gracie nipped at his fingers then scampered down the row of old graves. She stopped, ran back to him, nipped his hand again, and scampered away once more. Instead of returning a third time, she crouched down, her gold eyes wide as though she had caught sight of some prey. Gracie flopped onto her side and rolled onto her back, exposing her belly.

Ichabod narrowed his eyes at the feline. Various cultures had rumours of black cats being a little bit more than a normal cat. For example, an American superstition stated that black cats were witches in disguise. In Japanese culture, black cats were a symbol of good fortune. In Scotland, should a strange black cat choose your home as theirs, you were destined to be prosperous.

Perhaps Gracie could be a key in finding the line between logic and myth.

He chose to trust his instincts, stood, and followed after the energetic black cat. When he reached her, she sprang back into action and ran down through the lines of headstones. He had to walk fast to keep up with her. She hopped on top of one of the gravestones and pounced between them until they reached a small stone building with its door open.

Gracie bound inside the stone mausoleum. 

When Ichabod walked inside of the building, Abbie was sitting in the middle of the room in meditation and the cat was nowhere in sight. And it wasn't as though Gracie had many options for hiding. The inside of the building consisted of small carved alcoves in the smooth walls. There were twelve on either side of the room and a small stained glass window at the backside that cast a colourful glow upon Abbie. Ten of the small alcoves contained urns. None of the empty alcoves contained a petite black cat sporting a small, white spot on her chest. 

"What is this place, Abbie?" Ichabod asked, looking around with interest. 

Abbie lifted her head. "I come here to think sometimes." She looked around. "This is where they keep the ashes of the Horseman's victims."

"Supposed victims," Ichabod corrected. He studied the urns for a moment then joined Abbie on the floor, opting to settle in front of her, facing her. His eyes swept the room again, in search of his little cat. "I am still clinging to the idea that this Horseman is simply a local superstition and has no grounds in reality. Especially in this day and age."

"Ichabod. There's things I wish I could tell you," she said quietly. "But right now you wouldn't even begin to understand them... so I'm not telling you anything until you're open to believing." She raised her eyes to his. "Just promise me that on Halloween you will be home before dark. Sleepy Hollow can get pretty restless that night, they will be _especially_ so since you're in town, and I don't want you getting hurt while I'm at work."

Ichabod managed a smile. "Why would my presence cause them to be even more restless?"

Abbie drew in a deep breath. Her eyes rolled back in her head, leaving nothing but white to be seen. "The Horseman will ride again. On All Hallows Eve, he will ascend from Hell and the old blood ties will hold true, for both the Horseman of Death and the two witnesses to the end of days."

Ichabod scrambled to his friend, grabbing her shoulders. "Abbie... Abbie!" He gave her a gentle shake, hoping to snap her out of whatever was happening.

The lieutenant threw her head back, gasping loudly for breath. She held fast to Ichabod's arms as she came back around. 

"Are you well, Abbie?" Ichabod asked, brushing her hair out of her face. "Does this happen often?"

She nodded shakily. "Yeah... yeah. I'm fine. I'll be fine. It happens every now and again. No big deal." She swallowed hard and looked up to meet his eyes. Her dark eyes were full of desperation and fear. "What are the chances of convincing you to leave Sleepy Hollow and never come back?"

Ichabod traced his thumb over the apple of Abbie's cheek. "Admittedly I am the worlds worst skeptic when it comes to matters of the supernatural, but having seen and heard what I just did... I am wondering, perhaps, if my previous opinion could potentially be wrong. Therefore, my answer will have to be, on no certain terms, shall I be leaving Sleepy Hollow any time soon. At least not until I know, for certain, the validity of the legends of this place."

He stood and offered a hand to Abbie. She took his hand and he assisted her to her feet. Abbie wobbled for a moment and he helped her to stay steady. She fell against him, wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her cheek on his chest. "Then I will do whatever it takes to make sure you survive. I'm not losing you again."

While Ichabod was not entirely certain what she meant by 'again,' he returned her warm embrace. "And I will make certain to not put myself into any situations in which you may have to lose me."

Although, at the time he made his vow he had every intention of keeping it; just two days later, on All Hallow's Eve, putting his life in danger whilst in pursuit of the truth was precisely what he found himself doing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The excrement hits the fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had one heck of an adventure. I recently took a bus from my warm and sunny home in Southwest Florida, to the mountains of Colorado. On that two day trip I managed to write most of this chapter and managed to drop my cell phone down the air vent of the bus. BUT I just now got a decent enough internet connection to post this update.

Ichabod searched his apartment frantically. "Gracie? Gracie?" He looked under his bed for probably the fifteenth time since waking. "Gracie? Kitty?"

It had been a bit of a shock when he had awakened to the sound of Sheriff Corbin calling his name because, while on the morning rounds, his apartment door had been discovered to be open. Whilst he'd had the chain in place and it had still been there, the door itself was ajar without any indication of a break in. For all intents and purposes it appeared the door had been opened from the inside.

It had taken almost half an hour for Ichabod to come to the conclusion that Gracie had opened the door and escaped. Considering he had witnessed her opening his bedroom door to get out, it was not outside the realm of possibility she could have done the same to get out of the main entry.

Therein lay the issue. Gracie was a black cat. It was America. It was Halloween.

Sheriff Corbin had seemed decidedly unconcerned about the missing cat. "A small black cat with a white spot on her chest, huh?" When Ichabod had confirmed the appearance of Gracie, Sheriff Corbin had waved his hand dismissively. "I've seen that one around. She can take care of herself and no one messes with her."

So, a short while later, he rang up Abbie to lament about his missing cat. She seemed rather amused by the fact he was so distraught but had given him a gentle, "I'm sure she's okay. She's survived a few years without you, hasn't she?"

"That is beside the point, Abbie," Ichabod sighed as he walked down the stairwell of his building. "That point is, I have given her a safe home in which to stay. I simply cannot understand why she would want to venture out of doors in such a manner."

"Maybe she has a little kitty cat job where she patrols through the graveyards and chases out the mice," Abbie replied, amusement in her voice. "Just promise you won't let yourself get too worked up if she doesn't show up until the morning. If she's hurt you can blame me. If she's fine, you can thank me."

"I find everyone's blatant disregard for my feline companion's life rather disheartening," Ichabod grumbled.

"Hey, trust me, she's going to be fine," Abbie said, her voice full of conviction. "There's no need to get worked up. She'll come home. I promise. Are you outside?"

Ichabod paused briefly before getting on his motorcycle. "No," he said, trying to sound convincing but knew, deep down, Abbie would not believe him.

"Ichabod," she said with a warning tone. "It's three in the afternoon. You know it gets dark early. Where are you going?"

"I've just recently received a call from the historical society," he admitted. "They have some pages that could be the ones missing from the journal. I'm just going to collect them to see if they are."

"Then straight back to your apartment?" Abbie asked.

"Please let any officer that comes by shortly to be on the look out for Gracie and to let her in, should I not be back at the time of her arrival. You remember where the spare key is hidden, yes?" he asked and quickly rang off to the sound of the lieutenant starting to yell at him. She immediately attempted to call back, but he silenced the device and tucked it into his pocket.

He knew he would have hell to pay later. Hopefully Abbie could forgive him once she saw he would meet no harm. Ichabod just knew he needed answers that he couldn't get by sitting at home when the information was so easily attainable. Besides, there was always the chance that the information could be useless and he would be back home before Abbie was at the leisure to come and scold him.

Ichabod quite enjoyed it when Abbie scolded him. Most of the time he didn't know whether to hang his head in shame or to smirk at how flustered she was. There was also the added bonus that, given the way he towered over her, she was not afraid to put him where she thought was his place.

Since the incident in the graveyard two days past, she hadn't been particularly fond of scolding him. She hadn't even changed contacts information in his mobile, when he had clearly left it out in the open whilst obtaining them a bottle of wine to share that very night. He had even taken extra time to make sure the wine glasses were freshly cleaned and dried properly and she had done nothing. There hadn't even been a pen out of place on his desk.

That alone was a call for concern.

It had also made him infinitely more desperate to find answers. Worst case scenario, in his own mind, come morning he would wake up on his sofa with the lovely lieutenant leaning on his shoulder again. Or, better yet, wake up in a tangle of naked limbs.

Ichabod shook his head to clear that thought out.

He blamed his dreams. All the research he had been doing, mixed with Abbie being the one person he could consider a friend in Sleepy Hollow, had caused him to start having rather inappropriate dreams about her. It was all fine and well until he started catching himself paying attention to how tight she wore her jeans or the curve of her lips when she pursed them in thought or the way she could curl up next to him on the sofa and they fit together like pieces of the same puzzle.

Although he was certain they would fit very well together in another manner, she had given no indication that she had even a passing interest in him. So, it was best for him to not even think of her in such a manner.

Once he arrived at the Historical Society, Ichabod made haste to the desk. He leaned on the desk and gave the elderly woman behind it his best smile. "Good afternoon, Miss Estelle. I received a call that you may have found some information I could use in my research."

The older woman pinched his cheek. "That you did, Mr. Crane, you handsome man. Come on to the office and you can have a look. I've already made photocopies in case you want to take them home with you, but nothing beats actually holding a bit of history in your own hands."

"I must say I share the sentiment," Ichabod said, following the woman to a door with a window set into it.

"Take your time, sweetheart. If you need anything just let me know," Miss Estelle said before shutting him in the office.

Ichabod took his time studying the pages. Some of them were essentially useless, but he found a gem in more than one of the documents. One of the documents was some crudely bound pages with various incantations and spells scribbled on them. Something about the hand writing in them was very familiar. He couldn't put his finger on why he felt like he had seen the loopy, but somewhat sloppy, text on a previous occasion. He closed his eyes and concentrated on writing.

_Apples. Romaine hearts. Orange juice. Eggs. Bread._

Ichabod opened his eyes as he realized he recognized the writing from a short grocery list Abbie had written out before leaving his apartment, before he had acquired a means of travelling on his own. She had taken his request for odds and ends to fill his refrigerator.

The writing on the pages was extremely similar while also retaining a few differences. Namely, that on the grocery list, the I's were dotted with tiny hearts as opposed to a prick of the pen like on the documents. With the exception of ornate capital letters at the beginning of the first paragraph on each page, the writing was freakishly similar.

_Soul binding. The nature of this spell is grey. It is the soul's desire to find its peace once it departs the fleshly realms so it is with great caution which one should cast the spell upon a flesh bound soul. It enables the one whom is blessed/cursed to be reborn time and again. For best results, the spell should be cast in perfect love and trust. Take heed, the caster and the one whom the spell was cast upon will be bound until the end of days. The minds may not remember each other at first, but the soul will never forget._

Below the paragraph were diagrams of casting circles and what supplies would be needed, along with an incantation. Underneath the instructions was a small note.

_Attempted. Cast by myself upon one Ichabod Crane, Esq. Consequences are yet to be determined._

Ichabod felt his heart leap with joy. It was a legitimate link to his ancestor that linked him to a witch he would bet his entire research funding that the witch in question would be none other than Abbie's ancestor, Grace Dixon. 

Although, the spell did say 'perfect love and trust'. But that was for optimal results. Obviously there was a great degree of trust between their shared ancestors. Ichabod flipped through the pages until he reached the end then turned back to the beginning where is read, _Grimoire of Grace Abigail Harris_.

Ichabod briefly lamented that he had not made the wager with anyone on whom the author of the spell book was. Although, at the same time, he doubted anyone would have been as pleased by the discovery as he. Except perhaps, Abbie, but he was fairly certain she was very cross with him at that moment.

He checked his mobile and found ten missed calls. All from either Abbie's personal number or the police department. And he had ten new voice messages, as well as... 30 new text messages. After checking the text messages, he knew without any doubt that yes, Abbie was in fact extremely annoyed with him.

While reading the messages, a new one popped up. _God dammit Crane, why aren't you at your apartment?! It's almost dark and you PROMISED._

Almost dark? Ichabod raised his head to the small office window. Oh dear. It was almost dark. Maybe she would be able to forgive him if she saw what he had discovered, despite being angry enough to text using complete words. Perhaps she would be pleased with a solid link between their ancestors. Although it still didn't answer how the two had come to trust each other, just that they did. He gathered folders full of photocopies of everything and made a mental note to thank Miss Estelle profusely for the service.

Ichabod reached into his pocket to pull out the key to his bike, finding nothing. He sighed heavily. It appeared he had once again left the key in the ignition of his bike. He just prayed someone had not seen an opportunity and seized it. Once he tucked his copies into his courier bag and quickly made his way towards the exit.

Miss Estelle was in the midsts of locking up for the evening and jumped when she turned and saw him. "Oh, dear," she gasped. "You gave me a fright, child. I thought you had already gone."

"Heading outward now, Miss Estelle," he said, putting on his most charming smile to try and sooth the dread from her face. He took her hand and kissed it. "And I am most grateful for the photocopies you have provided me."

"Are you sure you want to leave?" Miss Estelle asked. "Wouldn't you feel safer tucked away in the office until morning?"

"I'm afraid not," Ichabod said. "I'm afraid Abigail would be sorely displeased if I were not home when she got off of shift this evening."

"Abigail?" Miss Estelle looked confused. "Oh! Oh! Abbie. Grace Abigail. I forgot she went by Abigail these days... Yes, yes. Find her as quickly as you can. Don't wait for her to get off shift. Find her quickly and let her take you to safety."

Ichabod scoffed lightly and reached for the door. Estelle put a hand on his arm. She looked absolutely terrified. "I will find her," he promised.

Estelle expression eased. "That's a good lad," she said, patting his cheek.

She then opened the door up for him. Ichabod sighed with relief when he saw his bike was still where he had left it as was the key. He secured his bag to the bike and climbed on. He could see that his normal route was currently being blocked by a parade, so that left the route to his apartment that went past the graveyard he and the lieutenant had visited just the other day.

He didn't mind the route, it was shorter after all. It's just he had planned on getting Abbie some kind of peace offering, in the guise of her favourite Starbucks pastry, to soften her fury. Given the crowd, he doubted he would be able to get in at any rate. So, it seemed, he was cursed to face the full force of Abbie's wrath for failing to keep his promise to be home by dark.

As fate would have it, just as he was reaching the graveyard, a streak of black at the edge of his headlight beam caught his attention. He acted quickly to avoid hitting the creature, but in the process lost control of his motorcycle. Ichabod swerved off of the road and toppled into the grassy shoulder as his bike continued on until it skidded into the gate surrounding the graveyard.

He panted for breath while he considered his state. He was still breathing, which was a good indication that he had not died. However, when he made to move, a blinding pain seared through his shoulder and arm. But, in all, he seemed okay.

Ichabod pushed himself onto his knees and took in his surroundings. His eyes then fell on a small lifeless form in the middle of the road. He felt his eyes begin to sting as he recognized the golden eyes staring blankly at him and the small white spot in the middle of a black fur chest. _Gracie_. All of his worry and panic over the tiny creature, over what some brute of young person would do to her, it had been him that had hurt her.

He made a move towards her, when she lifted her head and shook it. Ichabod chuckled softly. "You shouldn't give me a fright like that ever again," he said. "I must ask to have a sturdier latch installed to keep you from getting out again and risking something like this happening."

Gracie struggled onto all four of her feet. Her gaze was focused on something behind him as she crept forward, keeping her stance low. Suddenly, she sprang forward and dissolved into a swirl of grey smoke. Human hands hit Ichabod's chest, knocking him flat to the ground as an axe blade cut through the air where he would have been had it not been for Abbie. The axe embedded itself in a tree across the road.

Ichabod blinked, trying to process what had just happen, as he watched Abbie's eyes turn from a glowing gold to her normal dark brown colour. He was still trying to piece it all together when Abbie moved into action once more.

She straddled his stomach and unstrapped a rifle from her back and discharged three rapid rounds into the chest of a lumbering form. The shots made the figure stagger back then fall. Abbie was on her feet instantly.

"Come on," she shouted. "Quick, quick, quick before he gets up again."

Ichabod didn't hesitate to follow orders. Abbie grabbed his arm and they ran for his wrecked motorcycle.

"Good... Good good. It's still able to go," Abbie said, pulling the bike upright. She swung her leg over the seat, then winced slightly and put a hand to her ribs. "Come on, Ichabod!"

Ichabod shook his head to clear it and blinked at the figure that was struggling to its feet. He knew for a fact Abbie had put three high calibre shots into the man's chest. "Abbie..." Ichabod said as the entire situation began to fall into place. "He is getting up... Abbie. How s he able to-- He has no head. How... Why... He has no head."

"Get on the damn bike," Abbie snapped, pulling out her phone. "I will tell you everything. Just hurry." She hit a button and put her phone to her ear. "Hey, I got him. Where do I take him?"

She hung up as Ichabod hastily got onto the bike behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and they were off. When Ichabod looked over his shoulder, the headless man was lost in a cloud of dust and exhaust.

His mind grasped for a logical explanation. There had to be one. There simply must be one. Cats did not just turn into people. Headless men were not capable of getting up and trying to attack someone!

Ichabod closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on his breathing. After a moment, the logical explanation came to him. He was dreaming. It was a dream. He had fallen asleep at the Historical Society and was dreaming. That was the only logically explanation. And any moment now, he would be waking up and have something thrilling to tell Abbie about when she visited him after her shift.

He opened his eyes when he heard the sound of tires grinding on gravel. An older pick-up truck had pulled in front of them and was going top speed. Abbie followed every move the truck made, until they were deep into the woods and arrived at a secluded cabin. The truck parked and Sheriff Corbin eased out of the driver's seat. Abbie pulled the motorcycle up next to the truck.

"Do you know if we were followed?" the sheriff asked.

Abbie shook her head. "We wasn't. The coven knows what would happen if they tried." She looked over her shoulder at Ichabod. "I think he hurt his arm. Could you see how bad it is while I double check the wards?"

Ichabod allowed himself to be led inside of the cabin. It was obvious the place was meant to be a retreat from the normal hustle and bustle of the exciting town of Sleepy Hollow. He found the place oddly comforting. The sheriff settled him into one of the rickety wooden chairs at he kitchen table. 

"Let's have a look," the sheriff said. The man lightly grasped Ichabod's shoulder and elbow. He moved the arm up and down then in a circle, which made Ichabod wince in pain. The sheriff chuckled lightly. "You're lucky it's rained recently, son. You could have done some real damage if you had hit hard ground. But you should be fine. Get it checked out by a doctor in the morning at any rate. Or maybe Abs can fix it up without any problem."

Ichabod forced a smile and nodded. "Certainly. Once I wake up, I will most assuredly get my dream injury checked out. I've probably simply picked a rather awkward position in which to sleep and that is why the pain is transferring to the dream state."

Sheriff Corbin nodded. "Yeah, I'd try to convince myself it's a dream too. I don't blame you. I'm going to go out to my truck and get a few things. Are you going to be okay by yourself?"

Ichabod nodded curtly. As soon as the sheriff went outside, he closed his eyes again then counted backwards from ten. "When my eyes open... I will be in my apartment... having been asleep. And this entire day will have just been a rather peculiar and improbable dream."

He released a deep breath and opened his eyes to see Abbie standing in the doorway of the cabin. She had an eyebrow arched curiously. "You all right there, Ichabod?" she asked flatly.

"I am not comprehending why I am unable to wake myself from this maddening dream," Ichabod replied. "Normally in a lucid dream state, I am able to make myself awaken whenever I desire it. And I know I am in a lucid state because I am able to say such."

Abbie pulled out a chair, turned it around backwards and straddled the seat. She smiled softly which made him feel more at ease. "I wish... I wish I could tell you that this is a dream. I wish I could tell you that in the morning you'll wake up to Gracie licking your face and demanding to be let out," she said gently. "But that's not going to happen. Not for a few days at least cause... I'm a little more fragile in that form so it'd be best if I didn't do it until I've fully recovered from being hit by the bike."

Ichabod blinked at her blankly. "You... you're Gracie?" Abbie nodded. "And... you... died because I hit you with the bike?"

Abbie's eyes widened and she held up her hands. "No! no, no. It just got my leg but... I passed out from the pain. Maybe a couple of cracked ribs... But I'll be fine."

He looked Abbie over. "But... you haven't even been limping."

"I... am witch. I have certain... special abilities," she said carefully. "One of which is to heal quickly. Well, the initial process is faster. Most injuries that are potentially fatal can actually heal if given long enough to do so and treatment is gotten soon enough. My body just... accelerates the healing process. What would normally take people months to fully recover from, I recover from in a matter of hours or days."

Ichabod nodded. "A witch. Of course. That makes sense."

"What makes you say that?" Abbie asked with interest.

"I've recently came into some information which outed your ancestor, Grace Dixon, was a witch," Ichabod said. "Historically and according to a few texts, generally witchcraft is passed down through the family via the females. Typically the eldest daughter would learn the crafts of her mother or matron figure in the family. Naturally, since you are the eldest daughter of your mother, you were to take her place in the ranks once she retired, so to speak."

Abbie gave that smile she would get when he had said something she found particularly impressive. "Now _that_ is a good and logical response. And, for the most part, you're right."

"What did I get wrong, pray tell? It's not often one gets to see into the world of witches and magic unless they are initiated," Ichabod leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"You were wrong about Grace Dixon," Abbie said. 

"No, no, no," Ichabod said quickly. "I have documentation in my bag... My bag! It's on the motorcycle. It's copies of pages from Grace Dixon's personal grimoire." Abbie's eyes lit up. "Miss Estelle from the Historical Society happened upon it whilst trying to find me information."

Abbie looked as if she could burst into tears. "I have been looking for that book... for... ever. It disappeared sometime around the civil war..." she said, reaching over the chair for Ichabod's hands. He gladly provided them to her, despite the pain in his shoulder. "Estelle has it? At the Historical Society? The actual book itself?"

"Yes. And I have copies in my bag," Ichabod reiterated.

Abbie jumped up in excitement. "Ichabod Crane. I could kiss you right now."

He wasn't exactly certain what she saw in his expression that made her think he was open to the idea of her kissing him. However, he was not complaining when she did, in fact, grab his face and planted an enthusiastic kiss on his lips. To be precise, he rather welcomed it. Her lips were soft, warm, and inviting and he willingly extended his own invitation when he felt the excited tension leave her body and ease into something akin to melting into him.

Abbie moaned softly and opened her mouth to let him explore. He gently guided her to sitting on his lap, where she took the full opportunity to also learn more about what lie beyond his lips. Ichabod splayed his hands across the small of her back and enjoyed the intoxicating nature of the small sounds she made.

They both jumped at the sound of the door shutting loudly. Abbie's eyes widened and she quickly stood, covering her mouth with her hand. "I am _so_ sorry, Ichabod," she said. She turned towards Corbin, who had just come inside, laden with folders and Ichabod's courier bag. "It's not what it looks like, August."

The older man shrugged. "It's not any of my business what or who you're doing with your own time, Abigail." He put the folders and bag onto the table. "Here's a few things I thought the two of you might want to go over while waiting for morning." He looked between them. "That is... if you don't have other ideas."

Abbie shook her head quickly. "Nope. No other plans or ideas." She quickly started shuffling through the courier bag and pulled out a folder, her eyes taking on the excited glimmer once again. "Besides, Ichabod has something I really, really want."

Corbin pulled a face. "To much information, Mills." She shot him a withering look. "All right, all right, I get it. That's not what you meant. I'm going back into town. I'll be back in the morning. You two stay put."

"Yes, father," Abbie said flatly.

After the sheriff made his final exit, the pair sat in companionable silence, pouring over the information before them. They must have been at it for over an hour when Ichabod decided to punctuate the quiet.

"Just to be clear... You are my cat," he said with uncertainty.

"Mmhmm," Abbie replied, her jaw suddenly clenching.

"This is not a dream."

"Correct," was the clipped response.

"Therefore I am to conclude that you are the one I must see about retaining my security deposit once all of my research is done," Ichabod said. Abbie looked up at him confused. "You have done considerable damage to the carpeting in front of my bedroom door when you wanted out in the mornings." He gave her a gentle smile. "This does not have to be awkward, lest you wish it to be, Abbie."

"I don't want it to be," she replied quietly, a small smile appearing on her lips. She reached out and placed a hand upon his. "Believe me. The last thing I want it to be is awkward."

Abbie put her focus back on the photocopies of Grace Dixon's grimoire. A small smile was on her lips as she thumbed one of the pages while touching the gem settled at her throat with her other hand. It was the kind of smile one would get when thinking of a fond memory of someone they held dear. Ichabod felt a slight twinge of jealousy that Abbie had once loved someone to the point they could rouse such a smile from her, yet they were no longer part of her life.

He felt that any person that could make another smile in such a manner, they should be by their side. Although, he quickly recalled that she had mentioned the gentleman in question was deceased.

"Did he treat you kindly," Ichabod asked. When she looked at him blankly, he pointed to the necklace. "Your love. He treated you kindly, while you were with him, despite the objections from his family?"

Abbie closed her eyes and smiled. "Oh, God yes. I was his beautiful, African angel. He could go on at great lengths about how beautiful I was and how passionate I was. He was a poet in his own rite. He once wrote a ten page essay about how..." She squinted her eyes in thought. "'The setting sun became envious that the moon was able to kiss my beautifully bronzed skin through the hours of the night.' I still have it at home... somewhere." Her fingers toyed with the charm once again. Sadness over took Abbie's eyes. "He was a lover not a fighter. But he fought me every inch of the way when I pushed him away."

"How did you ever convince him to walk away?"

"The easiest way. I told him I had met someone else and that I was in love with them." Her smile reappeared. "But that cheeky little bastard... he said if that was the case, I should return this necklace. Instead, I turned and walked away. And well, I've already told you the rest."

"If you do not mind my asking... how..." Ichabod let his voice trail off, hoping she would understand what he was asking. By the fire that instantly entered her eyes, he could tell she understood very well, but that he was not going to be getting an answer. He shuffled the papers in front of him, looking away from the glare that burned like the fires of hell. "Pardon. I meant no offence."

Silence fell between them once again. Only this time, it felt heavy and tense. Ichabod struggled to find something to converse about which would lead to an end to the tension. Something that didn't involve lost loves or wishing she would smile at him the way she smiled over memories of her love.

Finally, he thought of something. Perhaps it was grabbing at straws. Perhaps it was only a half convoluted idea in his head that he didn't entirely believe himself. But it was something.

"Whilst reading the grimoire of your ancestor," Ichabod said. "I happened upon an intriguing entry involving a spell which would bind two souls through the end of times. According to notes on the entry, Grace Dixon cast the spell upon my own ancestor and namesake." Abbie slowly raised her head from her stack of papers. Her gaze was impassive and unreadable. Since he had her attention and she was not voicing any objections, he continued. "I have begun to theorize... not completely mind you because I would like concrete proof of the existence of reincarnation or anything involving the after life before jumping to conclusions."

"Okay," Abbie said, her voice void of any emotion.

"I have theorized that you and I may very well be the reincarnations of our ancestors," he said quietly, leaning towards her as if it were a great secret. "And that the bond forged by your ancestor those many years ago, is the very reason you and I have such a bond."

Abbie leaned back in her seat. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. "You would be half correct in that assumption," Abbie said, opening her eyes. "You _are_ the reincarnation of the original Ichabod Crane. There's no denying it. You look like him, you talk like him, you walk like him." She groaned in annoyance and rolled her eyes. "My God you even go on wild tangents like him. But, I'm not the reincarnation of Grace Dixon... or rather, Harris." She sat forward, propping her elbows on the table. "The truth is... I _am_ Grace Abigail Harris... one hundred percent original."


	5. Chapter 5

Ichabod stared at Abbie in slack jawed surprise. "Come again?"

Abbie folded her arms over her chest. "I am Grace Abigail Harris. I've been alive since, approximately..." She scrunched her face in concentration and softly muttered, "Records show I was around ten when I was brought to America... That would make me around 25 in 1770... when I was freed..." She smiled pleasantly. "Ball park figure... 1745... ish. Myself and the Grace Abigail I claim to be named after weren't even related, we just had the same name and I've been able to ride the coat tail of her family since. Although, to be technical, I did eventually marry into the family in the early 1900s..." She pulled a face. "Just don't ask because I don't like taking about it."

"That's... not possible," Ichabod said slowly.

"Improbable, yes," Abbie replied casually. "Improbable is... Getting shot four times in the chest then getting a bayonet to the gut and getting up to fight another day and healing by night fall. Improbable is... Getting hung _twice_. Burnt for witchcraft six times in three different time periods. Having dogs attempt to rip me limb from limb because I was sneaking runaway slaves out of the underground railroad during the Civil war and I felt their freedom was more important than dying and surviving yet again. _Improbable_ is watching America's humble beginnings and watching it become what it is today. But I am living proof that it is possible."

Ichabod swallowed hard. "Might I say... you look... fantastic for your age."

Abbie chuckled gently. "If you are having problems believing me, I can show you," she said softly. "It's a very simple spell. It will put you into a dream state and you will be able to walk in the shoes of your previous incarnations. See what they saw. Feel what they felt. With the advantage that you could skip over anything you don't like. It'll last maybe... an hour at the most."

Ichabod nodded. "Yes, understandable. Things move much faster in a dreams." He rubbed his temples as his brain suffered spasms from the information he had just taken in. "I can't fathom why I am so willing to accept this confounding information when it veers so far from the path of logic."

"Because you know, deep down," Abbie said. "It's true."

No, he wanted to say. He believed it because it was her telling it to him. _Perfect love and trust_. Had he... "Abbie," he said, dropping his hands as he reached a sudden realization. "Were... were we... were you and I lovers?"

Abbie opened her mouth to speak but then closed it. She drew in a deep breath and held it for a long moment before releasing it. Her fingers went to her necklace. "I... I can't tell you that," she said, her voice vulnerable. "It doesn't matter if we were or not. What matters is... the choices you make in this life, Ichabod." She met his eyes briefly then looked away. "Anyway. Do you want to do the spell or not?"

  
##  


Ichabod breathed in slowly and deeply, using the meditative breathing Abbie had instructed him to use. If anything, he could say he certainly trusted her, considering he was laying striped down with only a thin blanket providing modesty, upon the kitchen table of the cabin. He was surrounded with candles of various colours and the scents of various herbs filled the air. 

A shadow fell over his face. Seconds later he felt Abbie's fingers stroke his cheeks before descending to his hair to fan it out around his head. A smile tugged at his lips at the sensation. It was incredibly soothing and, to him, felt intimate rather than a necessity for what was about to take place.

He opened his eyes and looked up at Abbie's gentle expression peering down at him. "Close your eyes, Ichabod," she said softly, tilting her head as she continued to stroke his hair. 

"Regardless of our past relations, Abbie," he said quietly. "If you are amenable, I would be most open to pursuing romantic relations with you in this life."

Abbie's eyes twinkled with amusement. "I sort of figured that out while we were kissing earlier. Now close those eyes Ichabod Crane. And breathe." He did as he was told. Abbie placed a hand on his forehead and slid her other hand to spreading out over his heart. The feel of her fingers on his bare chest elicited a soft sound from Ichabod's throat. She started speaking softly in a foreign tongue.

He was starting to doubt any of this would really work when he felt his body jerk upward. Then, it felt as though he were dropped from the ceiling. He could hear someone saying his name, someone that was not Abbie and was not even female.

Ichabod opened his eyes and gasped with a startle. Where was he? 

He looked around frantically. He was inside a carriage? There was a gentleman seated across from him, leaned over with his hand upon Ichabod's shoulder. 

"Wake up, sleepy head. We've arrived, Ichabod," the gentleman said pleasantly. 

Ichabod tried to focus. His head was jumbled with information. Research and knowledge that was not his own but... somehow was at the same time. His mind quickly pieced together the other gentleman. _Brother at arms. Friend. Abraham. Abraham Van Brunt._

"My apologies," Ichabod responded. It was odd how he knew himself to be saying them yet, they did not feel like his own words. "Where are we again?"

"The home of Lachlan Fredericks," Abraham replied. "I'm told we should be safe here for the time being, whilst you recover from your injury."

Injury... Injury?

Ichabod became aware of a dull ache in his lower leg and looked down to see it was in a splint of wood and bandaging. Before he could even begin to wonder how such an injury had happened, it came to mind. _Following behind Abraham as they tramped through the forest... In his haste to keep up, he had stepped in a game trap. Lucky to have not lost his foot._

When he searched his memory, he recalled he had made several visits to Lachlan, to help with the budding abolitionist movement. He held a good repertoire with the staff of the household for that very reason. So yes, it seemed a likely place he would stay while recovering from an injury.

Once the carriage came to halt outside of the manor, the eager staff rushed forward to be of assistance. Whilst they were trying to help him up the steps and second visitor, a solo rider approached the house. Ichabod turned at the sound of the clopping hooves, in time to see the rider pull their horse to a stop and jumped off without any hesitation. 

The rider, dressed as a man, pulled of a faux beard and moustache as they rushed up the steps. "Permit me, sir, I have an urgent matter with Mister Fredericks," the feminine voice said. 

Ichabod would recognize that voice anywhere... _Abbie_. "Of course," Ichabod heard himself say and shuffled aside the best he could to allow the young woman through. He stared after her in surprise. She paused briefly at the main door to greet the house matron, then looked over her shoulder, straight at him.

She turned on her heels and stalked back down the steps. She took his hand and gave it a firm shake in greeting. "Welcome, Mister Crane. I'm Grace Abigail Harris. You will be seeing me in trousers quite a bit so try to get used to it and not stare." She shot a glare at Abraham, whom was still near the carriage and staring just as openly. "Same goes for you too, sir." She turned and bound back up the stairs. "Grace, in about fifteen minutes I will need help getting this binding off."

"I will send someone up at that time, Abbie," the house matron replied. The matron, a lovely woman with a regal aire about her, greeted Ichabod as he reached the doorway. "Mister Crane, how lovely to see you again." She bowed pleasantly. "Although I wish it had been under better circumstances."

Ichabod nodded towards her. "As do I, Miss Harris."

The woman beamed happily. "It's Mrs. Dixon now, Mister Crane. I am a married woman, so no more honeyfuggling with me, sir."

_Grace Abigail Harris-Dixon_

"Two Grace Abigail Harris' in one household?" he asked as he entered the residence.

Grace _Dixon_ laughed softly. "Purely a coincidence. We arrived at different times, same name. Imagine the confusion we had at first. Can I get you anything once you've been made comfortable, Mister Crane?"

"Perhaps someone to have a better look at my injury. Mister Fredericks said there was a rather skilled healer that took quarters here," Ichabod said. 

"That there is, Mister Crane," Grace said. "Give her about an hour and she'll come check on it."

In what felt like merely a second, Ichabod found himself laying in a bed with his leg bared and propped up with cushions. He grimaced as he looked upon it. It did not look good in the least. The injury involved a series of punctures around mid-calve and they were jagged and just by looking at them, Ichabod could tell infection was setting in. However, the man he was observing did not seem as concerned about it, thinking only that the healer could fix it.

Ichabod wished he could tell the former that the colonial era did not particularly possess the ability to save his leg. In fact he would probably be fortunate to retain his life. He looked up when the door opened. 

_Abbie_ , he thought as soon as the woman in question walked in. She still wore the men's trousers and boots, but had reduced down to having only a course linen shirt that hung nearly to her knees to cover her upper parts. Abbie had folded the sleeves up to over her elbows to give her freedom to use her hands. She stopped next to his leg and pinched her lips into a scowl. 

"Are you the healer?" he asked.

Abbie nodded. She looked towards the door, where a second maid stood waiting. "Go to the kitchens. Grace should have some water over the fire. Bring it to me, quickly. And some clean linens." As soon as the girl was gone, Abbie sat beside him on the bed. "Have you taken a fever sir?" She snapped her fingers in front of his face, making him startle. "Sir? Fever? Have you taken one?"

"No," he replied lamely, taking in her bountiful eyelashes as her dark eyes softened. 

"Good," she said gently. "Perhaps I can save your leg after all." She tilted her head. "And what did I say earlier about the staring, Mister Crane?"

"I assure you, Miss Harris," he replied. "I am unconcerned by your trousers." His former self was actually more concerned about how, when she looked at him in such a manner, he thought of a fawn whom had been happened upon in the forest... "Forgive me for staring... You are quite lovely."

The expression that came to her face was one in which Ichabod was very familiar. It was the look she would get when he had done or said something completely ridiculous. He wasn't disappointed by her response to such a confession.

She put the back of her hand to his forehead. "Perhaps it is not a fever I should be concerned with... perhaps you have descended into madness instead."

The maid returned with a steaming kettle and clean linens. Abbie took them from the girl and smiled sweetly. "Now... I need you to go to my quarters and fetch my _bag_ ," she said carefully. "You know which one?"

The maid looked concerned. "But... Mister Lachlan said..."

"Lest you wish to assist me in sawing off this man's leg in a few hours' time," Abbie said gently but sternly. "You will fetch what I ask for." Ichabod could feel tension suddenly enter the body he was residing in. The maid hurried out. Abbie looked back at him and put a hand over his. "Mister Crane. You have no need to worry. I should be able to fix what has been done. I am the best healer in this region."

The maid burst back into the room with a rucksack and Abbie took it from the girl. "What's your name sweetheart?" Abbie asked softly.

"Elizabeth, miss," the girl said meekly.

"Miss Elizabeth," Abbie said. "I am going to need you to leave. Stand outside the door. Keep watch. Do not allow anyone else to come in. Understood?" 

The girl nodded and hurried out of the room.

Once they were alone, Abbie set to carefully cleaning his wounds. Ichabod experienced every second of blinding pain as she had to burrow into each of the gashes to clean them adequately. When she was done, she opened her bag. "Mister Crane. I'm going to have to ask something of you that may not be possible. But I have to ask it of you anyway and you will need to do it, regardless of your stance on the matter."

"And that would be, Miss Harris?" Ichabod asked.

"I will need you to trust me and to be unafraid," she said. "And in return I shall also be required to trust in you, that you will tell no one what I am about to do. I know we've only just met but... we need to trust each other or the ramifications could be dire."

"Dire?" Ichabod asked incredulously. 

Abbie put a hand on his. "Mister Crane. You're will be dead by morning if you don't trust me. I am surprised you have lasted thus far."

Ichabod could feel his former self contemplating whether he could trust Abbie. He finally looked at the gentle, wide-eyed, face of the petite woman. His soul felt soothed under her gaze. He would trust her to the ends of the earth if it meant he lost neither limb nor life. "Yes. I trust you, Miss Harris. And in return you can trust me."

Abbie smile and retrieved a bowl and a dagger from her bag. "A few things you should know about me, Mister Crane," she said as she also pulled out a few herbs. "I am a witch. I have certain abilities that I am keeping from my coven for reasons you will see shortly. For all they know, I am just a very skilled healer with a very magical touch."

"A... a witch?" he asked.

Abbie nodded lightly as she poured some of the remaining warm water into the bowl and mixed it with some of the herbs. Her eyebrows arched. "Almost forgot... powdered oak to help with the pain." She pinched a greyish powder from one of her herb pouches and dropped it into the water. She swirled the contents with her finger then placed the same finger in her mouth. A grimace covered her face. "Perfect," she said dispassionately. "This stuff tastes vile but you have to drink it. Just two more ingredients."

She held her hand out towards him and he reached out to take it. Abbie turned his hand over and used the dagger to prick his finger. She eased a few drops into the brew then released his hand. "What is the final ingredient?" Ichabod asked. 

Abbie sat next to him on the bed again, facing him. She balanced the bowl on one knee. "I need you to not be afraid. I will survive. It is just... it takes a little longer to heal so I can get what I need for the brew to work."

Ichabod nodded, wondering precisely why he would be afraid of what she was going to do.

His heart leapt into his throat when she put the dagger to the underside of her wrist and made an incision along the vein. "Miss Harris!" he exclaimed, reaching forward to try and stop her. He stopped only because of the pointed gaze she gave him as blood streamed from the cut.

However, within seconds the blood ceased pouring and the cut closed back into smooth, unblemished skin, leaving only a vague trail where the blood had touched her flesh. Her gaze softened as he met her eyes. "I trust you, Mister Crane. Tell no one. My very life depends upon no one ever knowing besides the two of us. My blood can heal you, completely. And... you are needed in this world."

She swirled the contents with the blade and then held the bowl up to his lips. Ichabod took it and drank the entirety of the liquid. She was right... it tasted horrible. When he lowered the bowl, he reached for her arm and studied the place she had cut. "How does one discover they have such a gift?" he asked.

Abbie pulled her arm away delicately and looked away. "When her former master tries to kill her because she fights back when he's drunk and he takes interest in his pretty little slave girl. It's also when I discovered I was a witch. Thankfully, he thought everything was just a drunken delusion and my secrets were safe." She pulled the blankets over his leg. "You should rest, Mister Crane."

Everything became hazy once again.

When things cleared again, he was walking up a stairway with a man his former self identified as Lachlan Fredericks. He, unsurprisingly, had both legs still intact. Not to mention he was alive, which meant Abbie's magic had worked. "I was wondering," he was saying. "If I might inquire about the status of your resident healer, Miss Abigail Harris."

"She's out in the field again," Lachlan replied with a cheerful smile. "I'm constantly amazed at how easily everyone accepts she is a man and she can get information from them. A real fighter, she is. I'm fairly certain a bear would flee from her in fear if she faced them."

"I meant, is she currently betrothed," Ichabod said. "Has she any suitors?"

Lachlan stopped and blinked at Ichabod in confusion. "You wish to pursue a betrothal with Miss Harris?" Ichabod nodded. "You are a brave man." They ascended the remainder of the stairs and proceeded to Lachlan's study. "I am not saying she would not make a fine wife to a very brave individual, Ichabod. I know, without a doubt she would make a fine partner both on the field and in the home. It's just... there have been a few gentlemen who have taken interest in Miss Harris, but her heart was unmoved."

"Of this, I am well aware," Ichabod replied. "I have spoken with her on a few occasions and she seemed to behave completely unaware of what I was saying. I was wondering, perhaps, if she required a more forthright approach. Because it is fairly obvious normal means of attempting to woo her do not work."

Lachlan poured them both a drink. The man sighed heavily. "Two other gentleman managed to discover Miss Harris is fond of opals and decided to attempt a blatant proposal of marriage to her. She turned them down, obviously, but she at least knew what their intentions were and they made their affections known and she let them know she felt about them."

"Jewels would be a fool hearted thing to present her with, considering her work as a _male_ spy," Ichabod pointed out.

"I have fears that soon enough, she will be discovered at her task. Whilst she is willing to lay down her life, I am unwilling to lose her skills as a healer, which I think we may yet be in need of soon," Lachlan said, handing Ichabod a glass. "With all the talks of war... I think her healing touch could be of more use than any amount of information she could gather."

Ichabod closed his eyes. When he reopened them, there was a strange young man sitting across from him with a tray of various bit of jewellery on display. He well understood, now, what Abbie meant by he could move freely in the dream state. He needed only to vaguely ponder something and he would be shown it. Such as, in the back of his mind he had wondered what his former self had decided to do about his predicament with the very independent Miss Harris. Now, here he sat in front of a man baring gems, various shimmering opals as earrings, rings, necklaces, brooches...

His former self was currently debating a brooch with a fire opal as its centrepiece, surrounded by twinkling diamonds. The orange and copper hues of the gem made him think of the fire in her eyes when he challenged her. It would be a unique adornment for a lesser woman. He set it down on the tray.

He was not impressed with any of the pieces. None of them complimented the elegant strength Miss Harris often displayed.

"What more do you have?" Ichabod asked.

The jeweller appeared to be growing impatient, yet closed the tray and set it aside with four others which had held nothing that was suitable for what he had in mind. "This is my final selections for opals, sir," the jeweller said, providing another tray.

Ichabod looked over the tray. Only one item caught his eye... a lovely, oval stone muted silvery blue in colour with a streak of shimmering white through the centre that made it look as if it were a cat's eye. Something about it called to his former self, made him pick it up to take a closer look at the pendant. 

Unlike all the other pieces, it didn't feature grandiose adornments such as diamonds. It was simple, strong, elegant, and had a vastly understated beauty to it. It was in a simple silver setting. His former self thought it would look beautiful against Miss Harris' darker skin. Ichabod, having seen it at her neck numerous times, knew it did in fact look beautiful on her.

"This one," he said without any hesitation.

The jeweller opened his mouth to say something but instead smiled smugly. "Of course sir," he said. "I'm certain the lady in question will love it." He provided a simple chain and box for it and the transaction was settled.

In a blink, Ichabod was descending a stairwell, a candle in hand. After a quick assessment, he knew the necklace was tucked safely in his coat. When he reached the base of the stairs, his eyes immediately sought out Abbie, who had her hair down and was in men's trousers. Her lower legs and feet were bare and she wore only the thin linen under shirt, free of the customary waistcoat, scarf, and overcoat she normally wore. He could also tell she was free of the binding she would wear whilst in the field.

She was pacing frantically around a map with strategically placed pieces on it and muttering to herself. Abbie moved a few of the pieces and accessed the arrangement. She groaned with frustration and haunched over the arrangements, studying them.

Ichabod stepped up behind her and cautiously placed a hand over one of hers. He heard her draw in a sharp breath and she looked over her shoulder at him. "Mister Crane," she said quietly.

"Miss Harris," he replied. "I wished to speak with you."

"If it does not concern the best way in which to hide some runaway slaves until we can obtain them proper identification, you have nothing to say to me at the moment," she said, pulling her hand away and walking to the other side of the table.

Ichabod looked over the map. "I take it these places identified with blue ribbon are safe houses?" Abbie nodded curtly. "Perhaps you could set up a rotation of your associates throughout the various safe houses, bringing them progressively closer to here, where they will receive their documentation."

"We have tried that technique," Abbie stated. "We almost got caught a few weeks ago."

" _Almost_ ," Ichabod said. "Which is to imply that you did not actually get caught. Nothing ventured nothing gained, Miss Harris. And the business which you are in is very dangerous and lucrative."

She looked at him squarely. "I didn't get into the business of liberating slaves because it was easy, Mister Crane."

"I never once implied that you had, Miss Harris."

When Ichabod took a step towards the corner of the table, Abbie mirrored his movement. She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head curiously. "Why have I never seen you try to help with the actual liberating?"

Ichabod pressed his lips into a hard line. "No one has ever made me privy to such movements, so I have done what I can with petitions and introduction of legislations."

"That sort falls upon deaf ears. King and country cares nothing of my people's plight," Abbie stated. 

Ichabod made his way around the table and took Abbie's hand. "Then tell me, Miss Harris, what more can I do to help?"

She carefully pulled her hand away. "You can take your amorous curiosities elsewhere," she said sternly, turning back to the set up on the table. When Ichabod stammering intelligibly, she looked up at him. "Mister Crane, do you take me as a fool? Do you think everything you have said to me has fallen on deaf ears? Or perhaps you think yourself rare in having a fixation with freed women?" She turned back toward him and folded her arms over her chest as she leaned her hip against the table. "There are plenty of young women on this estate that would be more than happy to see to your curiosity. I assure you, fixating solely upon me will only leave you disappointed."

Ichabod wanted to applaud the cool and calm woman before him, despite the confusion she was causing his former self. Never before had a woman been so brazenly bold and immediately sought to put him in his place. His former self was used to timid and coy young women who played games when it came to attracting a man. Miss Harris was neither being timid, coy, nor interested in trying to attract him.

His former self was finally able to compose himself. Composition was something he prided himself on, the fact Miss Harris could so easy render him feeling awkward was a testament to the elegant strength he admired about her. "Miss Harris," he finally managed. "Let _me_ assure _you_ , my interest in you is not a mere curiosity."

She looked speculative. "Then tell me, Mister Crane, what are your intentions?"

"I have a desire to court you, Miss Harris with the intention to marry," Ichabod stated. Abbie arched an eyebrow, her lips pressing into a thin, hard line. "I even went through the trouble of finding out that your favourite gem was an opal." He pulled the box from his coat pocket and opened it so she could see the necklace.

"I ha--" she started dryly. Her voice ceased when she looked at it. The hardness left her expression and softened into something vulnerable and tender. She looked up at him, if he wasn't mistaken there was a hint of tears in her eyes. "Mister Crane," she said gently. "I hate to tell you but... this is not an opal."

Ichabod felt his heart plummet to his feet. Whilst he had always considered himself an educated man, his knowledge was limited on gems and jewels. Now he had made a most grievous mistake in his ignorance. 

"This is a hecatolite," she said. "It is said, should one be gifted one under the light of the full moon, is a sign that your love will be pure and true." She glanced toward a small window which the full moon shined a silvery glow on the outside world. Her fingers touched the gem reverently. "And I abhor the opal. I honestly do not know how such a rumour got around. My favourite is and shall always be the moon's stone, hecatolite."

Ichabod let out a relieved breath. "What, precisely are you trying to say, Miss Harris?"

Abbie grasped his wrists lightly. "I am saying, Ichabod, that I accept your request for courtship."

She stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

  
##  


Ichabod opened his eyes with a gasp. "Abigail..."

Within seconds, the Lieutenant was hovering over him. "Are you all right?" she asked. "What did you see?"

Ichabod slowly sat up and hung his legs over the edge of the table. He felt like he had run a marathon and wondered if that was normal. "I saw the answers to my question." 

Abbie looked concerned. "You might want to sit tight for a minute or two," she said, putting a hand on his arm. 

"I'm perfectly fine, Abbie." He eased off of the table and retrieved his trousers from the sofa. For a moment he caught Abbie appreciating the view but she quickly glanced away when she realized he was looking her way. "If the visions are to be believed..." he said, pulling on the trousers and fastening them. He walked over to her lazily and touched the gemstone at her throat. "My former incarnation was the one who gave this to you."

Even now, while completely awake, he could _remember_ a life where he had kissed that elegant neck in a dimly lit corner of Lachlan's manor. Ichabod suddenly felt dizzy and grasped the table as he shook his head to clear away the images plaguing his brain. They would make it incredibly hard to concentrate on the here and now. 

Abbie looked unimpressed with his discovery. "You had a multitude of answers at your fingertips and you wanted to see where my necklace came from?" She tilted her head. "It never occurred to you to find out more about ye olde Decapitated One?"

"Is that important?" Ichabod asked, mostly teasing. He blinked when his vision blurred for a moment and he saw Abbie in the uniform of her past. It felt almost as if he had gone out drinking with a really good reason to celebrate and then over indulged. "Forgive my being selfish, but I was led to believe we are safe here in this cabin."

"Our safety here is irrelevant." Abbie poked him in the chest. "Next time try to find out more about the Headless horseman and see how we can end this with both of us still alive."

"Next time?" Ichabod asked. His head was really starting to spin...

"Yes. You're going to have to do it again," Abbie stated, suddenly channelling that stern figure he had seen in his former memories. "You're the only one that knows why the horseman is after you. And we got to know what he wants if we expect to save your life this time around. I am not losing you again just because you want to do what you want."

"I doubt you will ever be able to be rid of me ever again, Abigail," Ichabod said, his voice slurring slightly. Ichabod took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. Abbie immediately wrapped her arms around his neck to return it. He kept it brief then rested his forehead against hers, panting heavily for his breath. "I do believe you were correct to tell me not yet to get off the table."

"It doesn't matter how many times I tell you, you just have to be stubborn and not listen," Abbie said flatly, just seconds before his knees gave and he crumbled to the floor in a faint.


	6. Chapter 6

_Ichabod. Ichabod... Can you hear me? I love you._

Ichabod opened his eyes. Instead of finding himself in the cosy cabin in the woods, he found himself on the ground inside a tent. Abbie hovering over him, grinning impishly. She was wearing a heavy wool coat, her necklace, and a smile, straddling his hips. But she had the coat held securely closed so he could not see any of the treasures he wanted to admire.

"I've thought about it," she said. "I want at least fifteen... no less."

"Fifteen?" Ichabod scoffed. "I won't settle for any less than a hundred."

Abbie leaned down and brushed her lips over his. "I was trying to set a realistic number." She fluttered her lashes. 

Ichabod slid his hands up her thighs and grasped her hips. " _Miss Harris_ ," he gawked in mock shock. "Is it wise for a betrothed woman to run through a camp full of men wearing naught more than a coat?"

She lowered her voice. "I have my ways of getting around undetected. Besides, most of the men have their own women to keep them entertained this lovely night. The ones that do not have had their minds numbed with drink. They will think nothing of one that finds herself sharing a bedroll with the very handsome Ichabod Crane. Perhaps they think Mister Abel Harris has gone into town seeking the same."

"Oh you clever woman," Ichabod purred, capturing her lips in a kiss. He rolled, pinning her beneath him. He held himself over her. "Fifteen... but we can behave as though we are trying for a hundred."

Abbie arched against him longingly. "I like how you think, Mister Crane." She pulled him down on top of her and whispered in his ear. "We should get more practice in before the wedding date."

And practice they did... quite enthusiastically. To the point Ichabod heard a few drunken cheers from the men outside of the tent, aimed in his direction. But he didn't consider it a "job well done" until he could see a soft flush on Abbie's cheeks and she made that beautiful face before eliciting out a most delicate and gorgeous sound from between her lips... which was a considerable feat in the almost near darkness of the tent.

Once they had tired themselves out with lovemaking, Ichabod gathered his love into his arms, her back to his stomach. He placed light kisses on her shoulder. "I wish for all fifteen to be beautiful and strong daughters, like their mother."

Abbie chuckled softly. "What if I want fifteen sons?"

Ichabod kissed her neck. "Why would you want that, pray tell? Boys are such terrors. I should know, I was one once. I would much rather have daughters."

"I was a terror growing up," Abbie said, laughing gently. "Constantly getting the other girls to do things to get them in trouble... dressing as a boy... Stole a horse once too. But I felt bad and returned it about ten minutes later. Luckily the owner believed me when I said it had gotten out completely on its own."

Ichabod kissed her shoulder again. "My family is coming. They want to meet the beautiful young woman that has so thoroughly ensnared my heart before we wed. But I'm not certain how they will like having a horse thief in the family so let us not tell that tale to them."

Abbie groaned in annoyance. "Does that mean I have to wear dresses? You know I hate dresses."

"Sadly, yes," Ichabod said. "But, if you recall, when we formally announced our engagement, you had to wear one and I made it up to you for doing it with all the grace and charm of a woman that wore them daily."

Abbie hummed with approval. "That... you did do. I would wear a thousand dresses if you made it up to me like that every time."

She was referring to a frantic and passionate coupling in a dark corner of Lachlan's manor in which he had hoisted her skirts up and taken her against a wall. It had taken place during the actual engagement party and no one had been the wiser. He made it up to her again after the party as well and helped her to discover that the finer aspect of wearing a dress was having assistance taking it off.

"I would certainly be willing," Ichabod murmured, then nipped at her ear.

"Ichabod," Abbie said softly. "I wish to confide in you once again."

When she shifted to face him, Ichabod was ready to listen. His lovely fiancée confided in him often. Thus far he had learned a great deal about her life as a former slave, the things she had done since arriving at the manor, and they had even laughed about the other ill fated proposals she had received which made Ichabod feel much better about his own blunders during his. 

"I never told you why I so easily accepted your proposal for courtship when you presented me with this necklace," she said.

"I thought it was because, deep down, you knew you could not resist my charms," Ichabod teased. 

Her eyes twinkled with delight. "That came after the fact," she replied. "You know how I am a witch, yes?" Ichabod nodded. "I have often associated with various covens. In one, I made acquaintances with a wonderfully talented witch who has a gift for prophecy. She said that I would know my truest love when he comes to me at the witches hour, on a full moon, and presents me with a sacred hecatolite."

"You accepted because of a prophecy?"

Abbie shook her head. "I accepted because I had hoped it would be you the prophecy foretold of. I saw it in your eyes the moment we first met. I fought my own feelings because I did not wish to have my heart broken... but then you came to me _that_ night, _during_ the witches hour, _on_ a full moon. And you presented this--" she touched the necklace "--and my hopes turned into reality. You were the one she was telling me about. My truest love."

"Remind me to thank her at the wedding," Ichabod said. "Because I fear, without such a prophecy, I may have never convinced you that my intentions were honourable."

"Probably not," Abbie replied, grinning wickedly. "I had every intention of asking Katrina to help with planning the wedding. She's a little more familiar with what aristocracy expects when it comes to such a thing."

"I assure you my family will most likely not be too peculiar in that aspect as I fear they believed I was... delicate in nature," Ichabod confessed. "My father was over joyed when I wrote to him about our engagement and that you were a woman."

Abbie arched her brows and grinned. "Oh, so they are aware I am a woman? What else did you disclose in your letters?"

Ichabod trailed his knuckles along her jaw. "That my love for you is stronger than the winds of the raging seas. That you are a wonderfully forward thinking woman who challenges me at every turn and makes my heart burn with the intensity of a thousand suns." He kissed her softly. "I told them that I owe you my very life and soul, for without your healing touch, they would have no son."

"What else?" Abbie said, keeping her eyes locked with his.

"That is all that matters," Ichabod said earnestly. 

Abbie's smile faded and she sighed heavily. "You told them nothing of how I am a former slave?"

To be fair, it had not even occurred to him to tell his parents that she was a freed woman. "No, I did not," Ichabod said. "Because it is a matter that is not of import for them. You are a free woman. All that matters is that my love for you is strong and true, as is yours for me. If it isn't enough in their eyes then we shall marry without their blessings. And, if I feel it's necessary, I can inform them that you are with child so backing out of our engagement is _not_ an option."

"But I'm not with child, Ichabod," Abbie chuckled.

"They won't know that," Ichabod drawled. "And, who knows, by time they arrive... we could be blessed." He placed his large hand at the natural curve of her belly. "Perhaps... even now..." 

Abbie's eyes filled with love and burning desire as she put her hand over his. "One can only hope, my love," she said softly. His name left her lips as a soft whispered mantra as she guided his hand lower.

  
##  


"Ichabod. Ichabod. Come on, time to wake up..."

Ichabod jerked awake and was confounded by his surroundings, laying on the smallish sofa in the cabin. Abbie was knelt down next to him, cup of coffee in hand. "Good morning, Sunshine," she greeted. "Your head feeling any better?"

He blinked to try and bring his mind back to full consciousness. In the end, it was the coffee that helped. "Much better, thank you," he muttered once he had enough caffeine in his blood. "It seems I am still dreaming of the past. Is that normal?"

"Sometimes," Abbie replied quietly. She put a hand to his forehead and squinted as she checked his eyes. "Yes, you're going to be okay," she said before he could even fully form the question in his head. How in the world could she have-- "I've had this conversation with you too many times to count."

"Precisely how many previous lives have I had thus far?" Ichabod asked, incredulously.

Abbie thought a moment. "Average age you've live is... thirty-three, on average there is a gap of four years between your lives, two hundred and fifty years... I'd say this is your... sixth... seventh... life since the original?"

"And we've met in each one?" Ichabod asked. 

"Yes. Sometimes it was incredibly brief," Abbie said. "There was one I met you maybe ten minutes before the Horseman got you. We knew _of_ each other. I don't know how you managed to find my address but you wrote to me frequently, begging to meet me. When the time came, I saw it in your eyes that you _knew_ me... really knew who I was. I don't know how, but someone had given you access to your memories and you had endeavoured to find me. Technically only myself and one other are supposed to be able to give you your memories. It wasn't me and the other one is currently imprisoned in Purgatory for committing forbidden spell craft, so she couldn't have done it."

"Technically? What about in actuality?"

Abbie's brow furrowed in thought. "There should only be two. The only other person with the power to unleash your memories would be a direct descendant of your bloodline or you, yourself. But, for starters, you have no idea of how to perform the spell."

"And what of descendants of my bloodline?" Ichabod asked. "You and I were... technically married by traditions of the time. And I recall I had a wife..."

Abbie shook her head. "No... it's not possible," she whispered. "She wouldn't keep something like that from me..." Doubt crossed her features. "Would she?" She rubbed her temples. "No, no, no... It can't be. It _can't_."

The woman leapt to her feet and dashed to the bathroom. Ichabod put down the coffee and hurried after her. She was in the midst of using lipstick to make marks on the mirror. She looked over her shoulder at him as he entered the bathroom. "I know you and Katrina had a child... As far as I know, he was buried alive by the coven to protect mankind from what he was capable of. He never had children of his own."

"Then why the concern?" Ichabod asked.

Abbie gave him a pointed look. "Because... you had one more. A daughter capable of great power but... she... she was m-- She died when she was young. Katrina was entrusted with making sure she had an honourable funeral."

"And her mother?" Ichabod asked.

"I was on the run at the time," Abbie said bluntly. "If she inherited my _special ability_ there's a chance... she could _possibly_ still be alive." She held her hand out to Ichabod. "Come with me." When he took her hands, she put her attention on the mirror and recited an incantation. "I call forth, Katrina Crane."

There was dead silence for a moment. Then a timid, susurration of a voice called to them from behind, "Gracie? Ichabod?"

They both turned towards the voice. Abbie instantly sprang forward and embraced the tall red-haired woman dressed in black. "My dearest friend," the tall woman said. Once the two women let go of each other. The red-head's eyes fell to Ichabod. She smiled happily and raced over to embrace him. "Ichabod... my love."

Ichabod staggered back several steps, his eyes wide. "Abbie... what... what is going on?" He search the woman's face. "Who are you?"

The woman turned towards Abbie. "He doesn't recognize me. What has happened, Gracie? Has his mind taken ill?" She looked Abbie over. "What manner of clothing is it you are wearing my friend?"

Abbie walked over and took the woman's hands. "He's not the same Ichabod, Katrina," Abbie said carefully. "He hasn't regained all the memories from his previous lives yet, so it may come in time my darling." Abbie motioned for Ichabod to come closer so he did. "Ichabod. This is Katrina. She... she was your wife in a previous life, after I pushed you away."

Ichabod searched the burgeoning memories that were working their way into his head. Katrina van Tassel. But... no... he didn't know her through Abbie. They had met some time _after_ his love had broken his heart.

"But... you were engaged to... my friend, Abraham," Ichabod said with uncertainty. 

Katrina gave him a forced smile this time. "Curse of reincarnation," she said tightly. She returned her attention to Abbie. "I take it you did not summon me because you were coming to free me from this horrid place?"

Abbie squeezed Katrina's hands in her own. "I promise I am searching for a way. But, I need to know something, my precious Kitty Kat. My daughter..."

Katrina staggered away, shaking her head. "No... no no... Do not make me speak of it," Katrina said frantically. "I have strived so hard to forget..."

"But I need you to tell me what happened," Abbie said. "It is important."

Katrina drew in a deep breath, hand on her stomach, and her eyes closed. "I do not know what happened... I was doing as you bid. And... she healed, Gracie. Her wounds healed and... she awoke as if she had only been sleeping. My next memory was waking on the floor and she was gone. Please forgive me for keeping it from you. I was terrified. I had no idea what would happen if anyone knew... For some time I thought, perhaps, I suffered a delusion."

Abbie brought Katrina's face to her level and kissed her forehead. "You did good, Katrina. I forgive you. I'm sure I would have done the same in your situation." 

"Please, Gracie..."

"I go by Abbie now, Kitty," Abbie said. "Once I get you out of Purgatory, I can tell you all about my adventures."

"You will always be my precious Gracie," Katrina said, stroking Abbie's cheek affectionately. "Please hurry... This place is terrifying. And I only did what I had done for you. So the two of you could be together again."

"I will do everything I can to free you, Katrina. Just keep faith a little bit longer. We'll get you out of here, I promise," Abbie vowed. She released Katrina and stepped back to capture Ichabod's hand. "Believe in us."

"I will always believe in the two of you," Katrina said. Her face saddened. "Just be careful if you try to find her. There is no telling what she is capable of. Immortals often forget that those around them are so fragile. And knowing what mine and Ichabod's son was capable of... I fear world would tremble with what she could do."

Then she was gone. Ichabod shook his head to clear it. It was a strange feeling he was trying to shake away. Something in the back of his mind had been calling him, bidding him to submit himself to the beautiful red-headed witch. "She was... your friend. My wife?"

Abbie nodded. "Yes. I asked her to watch over you once I left you. I'm not sure how she pulled it off but... she did."

Ichabod blinked down at Abbie. "She... deceived my friend to get to me." He put his hands on her shoulders. "Do not take this the wrong way, Abigail..."

"Why do I get the feeling I am? You only call me Abigail when it's something I will crawl your ass for," Abbie said flatly.

"I don't think we should trust Katrina," Ichabod said carefully. "Every fibre of my being wants to but... my heart says we should not." He did not yet have the words to explain what the compulsion that had been trying to control him was, but he knew neither liked it nor trusted it. Just that each time Katrina had looked at him, he felt closer to obeying the orders.

Abbie looked affronted. "But she's my friend. She has never done anything for me to not trust her."

Ichabod took Abbie's face in his hands and he placed a light kiss on her lips. "Abbie... in another life you asked of me to trust in you explicitly with a secret you dared to not even share with your greatest friend. Perfect love. Perfect trust." Her features softened and he rested his forehead against hers. "I ask you now... have perfect love and trust in me again. I may not be him, but... my soul is the same. The mind may forget, but the soul remembers... And my soul is trying to make my mind remember something terrible about your friend."

Abbie grasped his wrists and nodded. It felt like a powerful wave of energy flowed between the two of them, wanting to draw them closer together. It was a world of difference from the energy he had felt from the other witch. "I trust you..." she said softly. She looked into his eyes. "She might still be alive, Ichabod. Our daughter might still be alive."

"We... you and I had a daughter," Ichabod asked. Abbie nodded. "Admittedly, as you said, I have not recalled all of my memories from that life... but I do not recall ever being told of such."

Abbie smiled bitterly and took step back. "Because, as with everything else in our life back then, it ill timed. When I knew and I was ready to tell you, you were already dead. Actually, if I have the dates straight in my head, she was conceived about a week before you died, so there is no way you could have ever known." She sighed heavily and rubbed her temples in frustration. "I don't even know what she would look like grown up... She was only a child when she was killed."

Ichabod took her hand. "You said you were capable of making me remember everything," he said. "There is reason to believe she may have been the one to make me remember in one of my lives, which means I have have seen her face and know what she looks like. So tell me, my love, what must be done."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichabod realizes he knows how to find his and Abbie's daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it too so long! I've been driving cross country for the past week and a half in a big 18 wheeler! Had time while sitting around in New Mexico to finish this chapter up and get it posted.

Standing up to one's parents was always hard. More so when matters of the heart were concerned. Ichabod couldn't fathom what his father found so offensive about Abbie. His mother had thought Abbie to be a delight. The two women had chatted and giggled the entire afternoon as if they were old friends. Abbie had been the model of a proper, cultured lady. 

Occasionally his and Abbie's eyes would meet when she did something she was worried would give away her less than feminine behaviour she normally portrayed. He would give her a smirk of approval and promises, to which she would softly blush and go back to what she was doing.

Perhaps it was his mother he had inherited his opened eyes from.

It wasn't until Ichabod found himself standing defiantly over his father's seated form, screaming, "I love her!" that he realized precisely what sort of person he had once been and who he had become since being with his Abbie. "And nothing short of the hand of God himself will keep me from marrying her. And even then I will fight to be with her."

Thankfully, his father had vacated the sitting room before it had come to fisticuffs. Within the hour his parents were taking their leave. Not long after that he caught a glimpse of Abbie, sporting her uniform, making her way toward the stables with a purposeful stride. By this point he was well aware of his fiancée's sometimes irrational response to things. 

She was either going to go riding to clear her head or she was going to go riding and do something that could potentially kill her. Although in her case, the latter would not actually kill her, just incapacitate her for a brief period; Ichabod did not like the idea of her doing so. Thankfully his much longer stride brought him to the stables before she could finish saddling her horse.

Her face was an unreadable mask. Unfortunately, he knew all too well that reaching her in such a state would be nigh impossible if he didn't do it right.

"Your mother is lovely," Abbie said quietly, pushing against the horse's stomach to get it to let out a breath so she fasten the saddle adequately. She looked at him, a sadness in her eyes that made his heart sink. "Did you know she was a witch?"

"Do not go," Ichabod pleaded. He chose to ignore her attempt to avoid the situation that was unfolding and go straight to begging her to stay. "Stay here with me, please. Do not allow my father's arrogance and backwards thinking drive you away."

"I received a request from Lachlan," Abbie said, not raising her eyes to meet his. "There are three that need taken to a safe house."

"Bring them here," Ichabod requested. "I will prepare for their arrival whilst you are away."

"I will send word if they are to be sent here," she said coolly. She met his eyes only for a brief moment then put her attention on preparing the reins. "But do not get your hopes up."

"Then permit me to come with you," Ichabod suggested. "I do not wish to be apart from you at this time. Not after what just transpired with my father."

Abbie closed her eyes and sighed heavily. "Ichabod... Do not make this harder than it is." She looked at him, finally. "Take a bride that will appease your family. It will be easier for you that way."

"But..." He walked over and cradled her cheek in the palm of his hand, making her look up at him. "You _are_ my family, Grace Abigail Harris. Should my father disinherit me as he so threatened, I will be content in the knowledge that you are by my side." He put his forehead to hers. "You didn't really get word from Lachlan, did you?"

Abbie sighed and shook her head. "No, I didn't. I was going to go and just hide there for a few days and sort my head out."

Ichabod reached over and unfastened the saddle then removed it from the horse. "Your irascible disposition has very much taught me to be more patient since we've met." She stood aside so he could put everything away.

"You say that like putting up with that is a good thing," Abbie said, leaning against the horse's frame once it was free of the gear. 

Ichabod smiled lovingly at her. "I can only hope our children have half of your fire and spark," he said. A pleasant smile found its way to his love's lips. "Mostly because if they had all of it, I fear I would not survive to see grandchildren."

"That'll be fifteen daughters wanting to run off anytime they get upset," Abbie said teasingly. "Not that it would keep them in, but it may be somewhat of a deterrent, we might want to put taller fencing around the property."

"I wouldn't dream of trying to restrain them," Ichabod said, tilting up Abbie's chin. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. "Come. Let us not worry over narrow minds and closed hearts." He took her hand and together they walked back towards the house. "What was this about my mother being a witch?"

Abbie nodded gently. "She is," she said. "It was a point of bonding for us. Of course she wanted to know all about what sort of spell craft I do, shared some of hers, and let me know to watch you around the kitchen when baking because my dozen biscuits might come up short." She looked up at him. "Like I said, your mother is a lovely woman. How she ended up with someone like your father..."

Ichabod felt himself bristle. It was an old habit of his, getting offended if someone insulted his father. But his father had just spent the better part of three hours treating his bride-to-be as though she were a stain on silk table linens and then had spent an entire hour insulting her in the privacy of the study. So, Ichabod was in no mood to do his normal defences of his father's behaviour.

In fact, he was inclined to never again excuse his father's short comings. 

"It was an arranged marriage," Ichabod finally replied. Despite his love being in trousers, he placed a hand at the small of her back as they climbed the steps. "So, in all honesty, neither of them had much to say on the matter. Thankfully I escaped England before having to bend to their will on that matter."

As soon as they were in the house, Abbie pulled away and turned to face him. She put her fists on her hips an gave him a haughty and pointed gaze. "I do believe you have four hours of dress wearing to make up for, Mister Crane. And I will not take it lightly this time considering the behaviour of one of the guests."

"Believe me when I say I did not appreciate the implications that I was getting both a wife and a housemaid when we marry, _as a true commoner_." Ichabod rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. "I spent my life trying to get his approval and in a matter of hours I neither want nor care about ever having it."

Abbie stepped close and smoothed down the front of his coat. "Just as long as you are willing to deal with the ramifications of your decision."

Ichabod pulled her flush to him and kissed her soundly. Once he felt his love had been thoroughly kissed, he rested his forehead against hers. "The only ramifications I care about are the ones that have us growing old together."

Abbie looked him straight in the eyes and smiled softly. "You know... there is a spell that can be done... It can bind our souls until the end of time. We can be reborn, maybe not look the same or have the same names, but we could find each other time and again. Fall in love again... Maybe next time it will in a place that will be more open to us."

"I would love nothing more than to fall in love with you all over again," Ichabod replied, then swept her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom.

Sometime later, he awoke and reached across the bed, feeling cold by the absence of Abbie's warmth. "Abigail, my love," he murmured. His fingers found only empty sheets. When he raised his head and found she had, indeed, vacated not only the bed but the room as well. "Abbie?" he called.

A strange feeling washed over him. He quickly pulled on his trousers and raced through the house calling for Abbie. _No, no, no,_ he said over and over in his head. He dashed out of the back door and felt his entire being sink as he realized her horse was gone. She had left. She had run away after all.

  
#  


Ichabod staggered through the cabin as if drunken. "Abbie!" he cried out. She closed his eyes and rubbed his eyes. Everything was shifting between the past and the present in a manner that left him unable to recall which one was currently his reality. "Abigail!"

Either way he felt most desperate to find Abbie. Whether it was the past or not, he was most perturbed awakening without her next to him. He was starting to hyperventilate from the panic of not having her near.

Suddenly she was standing before him. One second she was in her modern clothing standing outside of the bathroom; The next second she was standing in the old house's kitchen doorway, coming in from the outside, wearing a loose linen shirt, trousers, and barefoot while covered in blood and holding a basket full of provisions.

Ichabod threw himself at her feet, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her stomach. He could almost smell the sharp tang of blood on her clothes.. "You came back," he whispered. "You came back, my love."

In the visions of the past, she set down her basket and threaded her fingers through his hair. In the present, she knelt down and hugged him tightly. She kissed his forehead and whispered, "Focus. It's 2015. I need you to focus on what is real and what is a memory."

Ichabod closed his eyes and tried to focus. Had she intentionally knelt down to help him be able to discern between the two. "I woke up and you were not beside me," he said quietly. "Even now I think that is where you belong." She hadn't even been in his bed when he had lain down for a post-spell nap.

Actually the most she had done was assist him into the bed because after she had finished the spell to grant him full access to all of his memories from all of his lives, he had hardly been able to walk. She had warned him about having two spiritually draining spells done so close together, but he was stubborn and had insisted. It wasn't because he was eager to remember _everything_ but because of people they could find if he did.

They could find their daughter from that life so long ago. But the most recent dream of the past had him perturbed. "You... you were covered with blood," Ichabod murmured as his mind finally settled into the present. "I awoke alone, thought you had fled because of my father..."

He opened his eyes and looked down at Abbie. She was searching her memory. He saw it the moment she remembered what he was referring to and she smiled gently. "Back in those days I would go hunting when stressed. And I also had to pick up some provisions for the soul binding."

Ichabod shook his head. "There was entirely too much blood for it to be a hunting excursion."

"Any fool can shoot an animal. When you can't die, your take on hunting tends to be a little different. I had decided to take on a wolf," Abbie said carefully. "I was covered in blood because I won a very ugly fight."

"Do you think, perhaps, we could go back to my apartment today?" he asked. "I feel a need to get away from everything that can easily remind me of the past."

Abbie's face fell. "Oh... right. Of course, sure, I can drop you by on my way to the station."

"I thought the sheriff said for you to stay on duty with me at all times..."

"You said you didn't want to be reminded of the past," Abbie replied quietly.

Ichabod gathered her into his arms. "My love, whenever I look at you, the only thing I can ever think of is the future." When Abbie pulled back and smiled at him, all he could see was her with dramatic make-up, her hair in an adorable bob. He could see her in a white flapper style dress with shimmering golden beads and dangles adorning the dress.

_You can't let your head get stuck in the past, Mister Crane._

_Whenever I look at you, Miss Foster, all I can think of is the future_.

"Wish we could have gotten to know each other better in that life," Abbie said, smiling adoringly. She too, it seemed, was remembering the last time something similar had been said. "You started writing me about a year before we met... I still don't know how you got my address. I never got to ask because you died maybe ten minutes after we met face to face."

Ichabod searched his memory. It was funny, now he could try to focus on a singular moment from a previous life and he could, if he concentrated, recall the events that led up to that moment.

_He had been out with friends. They had gone to another's house because of a visiting psychic, because that was what everyone was doing in those days. She was also a medium who claimed she could communicate with his ancestors. But he had wanted something she offered in the fine print of her calling card... a past life reading._

_Beautiful dark, curly hair._

_Light brown skin._

_Bright blue eyes._

Ichabod realized he recognized the face amongst the citizens of Sleepy Hollow. They had both seen her numerous times a day. She had smiled at them, laughed with them, joked with them. She had made Abbie's frappacinos, had served him his coffee exactly how he liked it.

_Gracie C._

How had he never seen the distinguished lines of her face that made her look very much like his own mother, in that life; the way she rolled her eyes was dreadfully similar to the way Abbie did it. And of course there was the glaringly obvious sign... her name.

"What did you name our daughter?" Ichabod asked carefully.

"Katrina Grace. I gave her your last name," Abbie replied. "Did you remember something? What did you remember?" She narrows her eyes at him when he frowned. "Don't give me that look. Katrina is my most dear friend, of course I would name my daughter after her."

"No, it's just... I believe our daughter works, of all places, at the Starbucks we frequent," Ichabod replied.

It was that admission that, half an hour later, landed the pair of them outside of their favourite Starbucks, which had once functioned as a stable. They stood outside for a few minutes watching the young woman that they gotten to know as one of the most cheerful baristas at the location. She spotted them standing outside, beamed a smile at them, and waved eagerly before racing behind the counter--to start getting their normal order ready, no doubt.

Abbie shook her head. "She can't be... She moved here a few years ago from London... I would know my own daughter when I saw her, wouldn't I? I mean I can sense that she is a witch... but surely I could tell if she was ours..."

"One must admit that the familiarity she has been greeting us with has been most peculiar," Ichabod said. "And I first met her in England in the early 1920s. She was acting as a fortune teller and medium, which were quite popular in those days. London was a large place, even then, no doubt an easy place to hide should one not wish to be found in _any_ era."

They shared a look and made their way to their normal, corner table. Within seconds the cheerful barista brought their drinks over and also delivered them a pastry a piece. "Coffee and nosh for my favourite not-couple," she chimed with an accent that mirrored Ichabod's. She tilted her head and winked. "But you two are such a cute couple anyway."

_Good lord, she has Abbie's smile_ , Ichabod thought. How had he never noticed?

She turned to go and Abbie reached out and grasped her wrist. "Katrina Grace," she said gently, choking on her voice.

Gracie froze and slowly turned back toward Abbie. A slow, teary smile crossed her features and she eased down in the seat next to Abbie. "I haven't been called that in... _years_ ," Gracie whispered. "I get off work in fifteen minutes. My place isn't far from here."

She then gracefully excused herself to finish out her shift.

"How did I miss it," Abbie asked aloud. "How did I not see it?"

"You thought she was dead," Ichabod said. "Therefore you were not looking."

It wasn't long before the young woman was wheeling a bicycle to the front door. She waved shyly, Abbie and Ichabod gathered what was left of their drinks and walked out to join her. "I'm just down the street," she said, pointing. 

Abbie walked to one side of her, Ichabod to the other. She had inherited the Crane height, but was maybe an inch or two shorter than he. She looked between the two of them adoringly. "You'll have to forgive me, I've been dreaming of this day for over a century." Her eyes widened. "Two. Over _two_ centuries. Goodness time flies..."

"Why don't you have a car?" Ichabod asked.

Gracie shook her head distastefully. "I've never liked cars. I think they are such a pointless frivolity when one lives close to everything they need."

When they reached the building she lived in, she chained her bike to a post and locked it up tight. She led them up a flight of stairs. Ichabod looked around and nodded with approval. At least she lived in a decent place. No daughter of his, whether from a previous life or not, should live in a hovel.

It was a simple studio flat, adorned with simple furniture, no television, and several herb boxes tiered near the window. In the kitchen window, she had some herbs up to dry out in the sunlight. Almost every surface had decorative water fountain on it or a bowl full of smooth stones. In an east facing window, she had set up a small altar decorated with figurines of deities, stones, herbs, and even a small cauldron.

"May I get you some tea?" Gracie asked sweetly, beaming proudly. They politely declined, indicating their coffees they still hadn't finished. "Let me get changed out of my work uniform and... we can talk. Please, make yourselves at home."

They made themselves comfortable on the love seat that gave a good view of a nearby park. Ichabod offered his hand to Abbie. She looked down at it and hesitantly placed her hand into his. Ichabod clasped his other hand over hers, enveloping her hand completely before holding it close to him.

A few minutes later, Gracie emerged in shorts and a t-shirt that showed off the sparkling pentacle dangling from her neck. She settled down on a bean bag chair and her eyes fell to their joined hands. "Well..." she started, looking at them expectantly. 

"How can we make sure you're who we wish you to be?" Ichabod asked. 

Gracie smiled sweetly. "The year was 1921," she said. "Your name at the time was James Ichabod Crane." She studied his face. "Your hair was darker and you kept yourself clean shaven. You were very confident, a little arrogant... You and some friends thought it would be a good laugh to get in on all the fuss over mediums and psychics. You wanted a past life reading. I offered you a brew that contained a drop of my blood. It made you remember everything. And, like you, I have a knack for remembering things." 

She turned her attention to Abbie. "When I was five years old, we were being chased by some men that wanted to arrest you for impersonating a man. Auntie Katrina was also being pursued because the coven wanted to make her pay for performing several spells she shouldn't have--" Her eyes flickered to Ichabod then back to Abbie. "The dogs caught up to us. It's not the pain I remember most vividly... It's you screaming my name as you fought them off then holding me in your arms as I died for the first time. I woke up in these... tunnels of some kind. Auntie Katrina was trying to give me a proper burial. She was terrified when I woke up. She said I was cursed... She tried to kill me again because _that's what something like me deserved_ and she buried me alive when I healed in front of her."

Ichabod glanced towards Abbie when she squeezed his hand. He could see she was tense, her face was unreadable as ever.

"And you're a practising witch?" Ichabod asked.

Gracie smiled proudly and nodded. "I'm the current High Priestess of the Sisterhood of the Radiant Heart. We're small, since after Auntie deflected many of the older members took to practising _darker_ magics. I've rebuilt it over the years, surrounded myself with those that are pure and radiant of heart, as it was intended." She looked down at her hands and sighed. "But, they still don't know about my being able to heal... or not die. Auntie Katrina taught me well that I should keep it away from anyone I do not trust."

"Why haven't you ever told me," Abbie asked. "I've been in Sleepy Hollow for _two centuries_. You came here a few years ago and you have never once let me know you were my little girl?"

Gracie shook her head. "I didn't know how to find you. Like I said, our only ally turned out to be an enemy. You were on the run. My father was..." she sighed heavily. "In a limbo of sorts. I couldn't go to Frederick's Manor because it was... cursed. So, I went to England to find my grandparents." She laughed slightly when Ichabod pulled a face. "They were delightful. Well, grandmother was at any rate. But grandfather had his moments." She put on a deep voice to mock her grandfather. "You are light skinned and pretty enough we should be able to find you a suitable husband, just stay out of the sun so you don't get too dark, we can only blame tanning so much. Leave it to my son to produce a female... Gracie, get out of the sun, you heathen child! For God's sake, we don't want people to start thinking you are _French_!"

"You married?" Abbie asked.

Gracie shook her head. "I took to sunshine, books, and sciences instead. I acted as a tutor for aristocratic girls for many years. Then I realized, at a certain age I just sort of stopped getting older. Grandmother noticed too and I had to tell her about what happened while we were running. She was much more accepting than Auntie had been and taught me how I could use magic to be able to change public records as needed. Although I am not completely sure if I could use it in this modern age or not."

Abbie smiled slowly. "There are ways. There will always be ways."

"But Grandmother taught me magic, she helped me get connections with various covens," Gracie said. "She said Auntie Katrina was wrong, that every witch has the choice of how they use their unique gifts and talents." She looked pointedly at Abbie. "She also said that if Auntie Katrina automatically assumed I was a thing of evil, that she was probably feeling threatened by what I am capable of. In other words, the evil resided within her, not me, because great evil feels threatened by the potential of great good."

Abbie shook her head and leaned forward, removing her hand from Ichabod's so she could rest her elbows on her knees. Ichabod almost reached over and put his hand on the small of her back where a small strip of skin was showing. He quickly withdrew his hand when he realized that was a habit from another life and he had not yet been given clearance for that level of intimacy in this one. Although he was certain she would not object, the slim possibility that she might made him sit straight and keep his hands in his lap.

"What did she do that led her down a path of darkness?" Abbie asked. When Gracie glanced toward Ichabod, Abbie looked back at him for a second before returning her eyes to their daughter. "What did she do to him?"

Gracie inhaled deeply and laid back in her bean bag chair. "And it harm none, do what you will." She sat back up straight, she looked to Ichabod. "That is the major rule of magic. You are to harm none, not even yourself. No spell should be cast upon another without their knowledge or permission. She broke that rule _numerous_ times on your past self. We only know of a few times, there is a chance there were more. She tried to align herself with those capable of great power and pollute their minds and control them. It's what she did to most of the coven when she was the leader."

"Why me?" Ichabod asked. 

"You and mother are the Witnesses foretold in the end times. As far as great and powerful, you two are right up there in the top tiers," Gracie replied. "Even Grandmother knew you were capable of great power... great good. That's why she tried to teach you properly despite grandfather's diluted views. She did what she could, but in those days there was only so much a woman could instil on her son. It's why she was so pleased by your engagement. She knew, over time, mother could teach you what she couldn't."

Gracie quickly stood and hurried away. She returned a few minutes later with a worn book and a bundle of rolled up papers. She handed the book to Ichabod. "Grandmother wished for me to keep this safe until you could have it. I've made copies of all the spells and notes, so I shouldn't need anything out of it. She wanted both of you to make use of it." She held up the rolled papers. "And I heard you two have been doing lots of research on Nearly Headless Nick and thought you might be interested in the missing pages from Auntie's grimoire. They are quite... _illuminating_..."

She handed them to Abbie.

"I trusted her too, mother. Her entire coven trusted her once. But some of the things she did drew them down the same path of darkness she took," Gracie said. "It's not too late for the two of you to finish the battle and make sure she never leaves Purgatory. When you see the spells the coven tore out, you'll understand better."

Gracie got down on her knees in front of Abbie and looked up at her pleadingly. "Myself and my coven are at your disposal should you ever need our aid." She took one of Abbie's hands and took one of Ichabod's. "Just remember, the two of you are stronger together." She fit their hands together and clasped her hands around them the best she could. "And the magic you two can create is more powerful than any spell and can overpower even the greatest darkness."

She then stood and pulled them both into a tight hug.

Ichabod instantly put his free arm around the young woman to return the embrace. A few seconds later, he felt the warmth of Abbie's arm against his. Gracie pulled their heads in so they were a small huddle. 

"I believe in you," Gracie whispered. "I never ever lost faith in either of you."

After that the mood of the meeting fell into a relaxed familiarity. Abbie started looking through the pages Gracie had provided. She frowned as she glanced over most of them. A few, however, she held longer than the others, to the point her hands began to tremble. A look of fury settled onto her features. Ichabod watched her curiously for a moment, taking his attention away from the idle conversation he had been having with Gracie. 

"Is something amiss, Abbie?" Ichabod asked.

Abbie dropped her hands into her lap and gave a frustrated sound. "That _bitch_ ," she ground out. "That conniving, red-headed bitch..."

"Abbie," Ichabod said with uncertainty.

"I have half a mind to go to Purgatory and deliver her straight to the darkest pits of Hell myself," Abbie said, barely able to contain the anger in her voice. She looked at Ichabod. "I am so sorry... I'm sorry. If I had known what she would do..."

Abbie put her face in her hands and tried to steady her breathing. Ichabod hurried over and sat beside her. Putting an arm around her, he asked, "What did she do?"

She dropped her hands then handed a few pages to him. "She was using me all along... She knew I was a Witness. And she used me to get to you when she realized she wouldn't be able to sway me with spells... so she swayed me by manipulating me."

Ichabod looked at the pages. The tidy scrawl he recognized from his research detailed several spells ranging from luring one away from a lover to making one fall in love with her. Notes detailed how she had to do them repeatedly on him and displayed annoyance with wanting to know how the effect of the spells would wear off despite her best efforts.

"Love spells," Ichabod muttered. "I was somehow able to make them lose their effect."

Abbie shook her head. "No," she said. " _We_ were able to make them lose their effect. True love always triumphs over spells because it's real and powerful." She lowered her voice, "I never noticed the signs... When you would come and see me, you constantly said how your mind was clearer when you were around me. I should have realized... but I didn't. I never would have thought she would do something like that so it never occurred to me."

Ichabod tucked her hair behind her ear and tilted her chin to she was looking him in the eyes. "You cannot blame yourself for her actions or your being blind to them."

Abbie shook her head. "But I'm the one that told her to watch over you..."

"You are not responsible for her actions," Ichabod reiterated. "But I can now understand why, perhaps, I had an immediate distrust for her."

Abbie looked to Gracie. "Thank you. For everything. Ichabod and I have to go for now... It's going to be dark soon enough and we have to prepare to fight. The horseman will keep coming after him so we have to do what needs to be done to keep him safe." 

Gracie jumped to her feet. "I'll come with you. I can help."

The two women shared a glance. Gracie nodded as if the to had communicated in a means other than verbal. "We should get in my jeep then," Abbie said. "I know you said you don't like driving but do you know how to, Gracie?"

She nodded mutely. "I do."

"Then lets go to Ichabod's place," Abbie said.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Crane's attempt to leave Sleepy Hollow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It hurt to write this chapter even though I knew it was coming all along.

Watching the ones you love die was never easy.

She had seen Gracie die. She had seen friends die. She had seen Ichabod die numerous times.

Abbie had thought, maybe over time, it would get easier but it never did. In fact it only seemed to get harder each time. Even in the lifetime when she and Ichabod had a severe love/hate relationship going on, it had been hard to lose him. That particular round for him had at least not been boring... He had started out as a spy for the Confederate army but eventually changed his coat. More than once the arrogance he displayed in that life had made _her_ want to kill him herself.

But then things between them had changed. Their romance had been rocky, full of turmoil, and a constant power struggle both in and out of the bedroll. Nonetheless, she had felt pain and mourned when the horseman had taken him.

She mourned every time he died.

More than once she had gone almost two weeks without eating, hoping she could die by starvation. But it hadn't happened and eventually she willed herself to start eating again and move on. Then one day, out of the blue, she would feel a small sense of hope rising in her soul, reaching out over the ocean.

Never near by, he always started there.

That small sense of hope is what let her know he had been reborn and her soul was calling out to his. And somehow he always ended up in Sleepy Hollow and they would meet again. She had felt it the moment he started getting closer to her, hell even the moment he first stepped foot on American soil she had felt it. Abbie had been caught between wanting to be over joyed at meeting him again and wanting to cry because she would be losing him again.

Nothing could have prepared her for seeing him this time. Nothing.

She had grown accustomed to him at least looking a bit different each time he was reborn. But this time, it was like a movie where they use the same actor for to play an ancestor of the main character to save money. He looked exactly like the original. He had the same mannerisms. In fact the only difference she could see between the two was that this one had a birthmark on his chest that almost looked like a scar.

Blue eyes, long hair, beard... And a voice that was like fine honey in her ears. The only thing that had kept her from doing very inappropriate things to him in those first few days of guarding him had been reminding herself that he didn't know her. Then once they had started becoming friendly, she had to try and do things to annoy him to make him be abrasive towards her--it hadn't exactly worked out the way she had hoped.

If anything it had the opposite of the desired effect. It would have worked better during his life in the civil war era.

If she could just figure out how to destroy the horseman, Ichabod could be safe in Sleepy Hollow. While the horseman had been a figure that ghosted battlefields since the revolution, it seemed especially focused on Ichabod. She wondered who he had pissed off so badly in that first life that they pursued him even now... that he had sought out Ichabod every time he came to Sleepy Hollow. Funny thing was, the horseman would disappear into whatever otherworldly prison he called home, as soon as Ichabod was dead. So Abbie couldn't think of it as anything more than a personal vendetta. 

Maybe if she could find out who the horseman was and why he was after Ichabod, she could make it safe for him to stay with her...

"It's almost sundown," Gracie called from the little kitchen.

"You ready?" Abbie asked as Ichabod shoved clothes into a gym bag. He gave her a faint smile and nodded. "Enough clothes to last a couple days?"

"And what of you, Abigail?" he asked. "Will you be staying with me at the cabin and taking nothing extra?"

Abbie smiled faintly. "I have the advantage that I can turn into a cat while washing my clothes."

Gracie poked her head into the bedroom, her eyes wide. "You can turn into a cat?" Abbie nodded. "How... can you teach me?"

"Maybe. But you have to be careful. If someone throws a collar on you, you can't turn back human because even though what you are wearing while human can be worked into your cat form, it doesn't work the other way around," Abbie said. "I found that out the hard way and was stuck as a cat for a few months... But, in that time, I was the best pet the Dixon family ever had." She looked Ichabod over and felt a hint of sadness. "Make sure you have your passport."

She watched as a spark entered his eyes. "I am going nowhere that I would require it," he huffed.

Abbie nodded. "Yes you are. We all are," she said. "You're going home and... we're going with you. Far away from Sleepy Hollow and this horseman that is hell bent on destroying you."

"We're just going to run away?" Gracie asked. "Why not stay and fight?"

Abbie looked at her daughter. "Because... I've been here for over two centuries fighting _and losing_. I've lost people I cared for. I've lost your father numerous times. And I am _tired_ of fighting. Fighting has gotten me nowhere. It will keep getting _us_ nowhere. So we're running. We're running away to where the horseman can not reach us."

She had expected further objections from Ichabod. But, to her surprise, he took her hand and kissed it. "I do not care where we are, so long as we are together."

"Then lets get going," Abbie replied with a smile. "Do you need to get your passport, Gracie?" The young woman nodded. "And I keep mine in the jeep so we're good once we get yours. Once we're in London, I'll call Corbin and have him send whatever we leave behind."

"What is to stop the horseman from following us?" Ichabod asked.

Abbie drew in a deep breath. "The horseman can't leave Sleepy Hollow. Something is binding him here. He can't go past the city borders so once we hit the city limit signs, we're safe."

They piled into the jeep and after a quick stop back by Gracie's place, they headed back to the vehicle. Abbie froze as she felt a chill up her spine as they exited the building. She didn't really have to look, especially when she saw retreating citizens and they were screaming. 

"Get in the car," she said frantically. They all three jumped when a bullet hit a nearby car. Abbie turned in wide-eyed horror to see that their 'friend' seemed to have found some much more modern weapons to use. "Get in the jeep, now and get down!"

Gracie and Ichabod wasted no time in following her orders. Abbie jumped into the jeep,wincing when she felt a round pierce her shoulder, and sped off. Within seconds the pain stopped, letting her know it was already healing. Her heart was racing as she blew the horn to get the retreating people out of her way. Once it was clear she put the pedal to the metal, the horseman not too far behind them.

Even if she managed to out run him, she knew he would be able to find them before too long. Sure enough, by time they reached the outer edges of town, the horseman was far behind. Abbie stopped just short of the city limit signs and got out of the jeep.

"What are you doing?" Gracie asked as Abbie opened the back door and shoved the keys into her hand.

"Get him to JFK. I don't care if you have to knock him out and shove him into a suitcase to get him on a plane, get him away from here," Abbie ordered, shutting the door again.

Gracie jumped over the seat to get behind the wheel. Ichabod looked at Abbie questioningly as she shut the door. He pulled at the handle on the inside and looked betrayed when he realized it wouldn't open because she had set the child safety locks ages ago. Instead, he let down the window.

"Abigail..." he started.

Abbie shook her head. "The horseman isn't the only one that can't leave Sleepy Hollow, Ichabod," she said quietly. "Go... both of you. Now..."

Gracie nodded curtly and put the jeep into drive. However, within seconds the jeep swerved and came to a screeching halt. Ichabod staggered out of the front passenger door and ran to Abbie, catching her in a tight embrace. Tears stung Abbie's eyes as his lips found hers but she willed herself to push him away.

"Go," she shouted. "Get away from here."

"We are meant to be together," he said quietly, closing the space between them again and taking her face in his hands. He pulled her closer to the border of Sleepy Hollow but as soon as they reached it, her feet would not move past it. He grasped her hands but no part of her would go past the city limit sign.

"I wish we _could_ be together," Abbie said, feeling the warmth of a tear down her face. "Just once I wish we could." She pulled her hands away from his and stepped back several paces. "Just go. Please, before it's--"

Abbie felt a sharp pain through her back and chest. Just before she collapsed she saw a stunned expression on Ichabod's face and a dark stain spreading over his shirt from a hole in his chest. She reached out for him as they both hit the hard asphalt. Another shot rang out and she heard Gracie cry out in pain.

Maybe... if she could reach Ichabod... maybe she could save him. Just this once, maybe she could save him before it was too late. The wound she had could heal, but she knew it would take time because it was a fatal one. But... if only... she could reach... She could still feel him, the tiny strings of life that he was clinging to as he also reached for her.

The sound of hooves on asphalt echoed in her ears, getting closer as she managed to pull herself almost within Ichabod's reach. But the last thing she heard was a loud gunshot before she felt nothing.

  
#  


_Abbie... Oh my beautiful Abbie... My strong and determined Abbie..._

Abbie's eyes fluttered opened and she closed them again against the bright light that was invading the room. She smiled at the sound of Ichabod's soft chuckle just before he kissed her eyelids. A feeling of safety and security surrounded her as he pulled her into his arms.

"I have no desire to awaken," Abbie whispered. "Because it means we must again be apart."

"The light is an illusion," Ichabod replied, his breath warm against her cheek. "It is yet many hours before the sun arises."

She could feel him stretched along beside her, a wall of heat to combat the cold that threatened once he left to return to Katrina. Abbie cracked open an eye. "The light is too bright to be the moon." By the gods, she loved when he held her in his arms. He always curled his long frame around her more petite one, enveloping her in his love. "I dreamt I saw you dying a thousand times," she said.

"But I am alive," Ichabod said, clasping her hand and entwining their fingers. "Open your eyes and see." 

Abbie wrinkled her nose but opened her eyes nonetheless. Certainly enough, her love was alive and well, smiling lazily at her with that smirk that made her insides flutter. "Such a salacious smile for gentleman," she teased.

"My present company has such an effect on me," Ichabod murmured just seconds before his lips sought out hers.

Any time she spent in his arms was heavenly. She couldn't have prayed for a stronger or more passionate love. Abbie also made certain she gave just as thoroughly as she received. The result was two very surfeited individuals who never wanted to leave their bed, despite the lingering duties that begged their attention.

Abbie had people to free from slavery, Ichabod had a nation as a whole to free as well as to petition the courts for a divorce from Katrina. He would only be gone a month, perhaps, considering his regiment was familiar with Lachlan... and that was where she spent much of her time. Perhaps good fortune would smile upon her and she would see him even sooner than a month. He was willing to besmirch his own name in order to achieve the divorce, if need be, so perhaps they could even be free to be together by time they saw each other again.

She closed her eyes and tried to see when they would meet again. A dark cloud skewed her vision. She could feel herself fighting then the vision cleared and she was besting a blond man in a brawl in an unfamiliar room. _Spy_ a voice whispered in her ear. _Enemy_. Little did the man know, any non-fatale blow he landed was futile. She pinned the man on the floor, her knees on his shoulders. She unsheathed a dagger and prepared to slit his throat. _Ichabod_. She dropped the dagger and murmured the name at the edge of her mind. His eyes startled with the familiarity of the name on unfamiliar lips.

Abbie gasped and pulled herself out of the vision.

"Abbie..." Ichabod called softly. "Are you all right?"

Abbie sat up in the bed and looked around. No... no... this wasn't right. She had lived this life before. It was the last time she had told Ichabod goodbye before they entered the vicious cycle of his being reborn. It was the only time she had not had to watch him die in front of her. It was the only time she had not had cremate him to assure he could be peacefully reborn.

She crawled out of the bed and turned to look at him, still lounging amongst the tangled sheets.

"Limbo..." she said quietly. "We're in limbo..." Her life had proverbially gone to hell after this day, so there was no chance of it being heaven.

"You don't have to be," Ichabod said. "You can leave at any time." He sat up. "And you can set me free. You can break the cycle."

It was all in her head. Even he was just all in her head. She was clinging to death because she wanted to and it had her in limbo. The cycle of rebirth was something that had preyed on her mind since his first death. The thoughts only persisted the more times it happened... She could break the cycle. She could let herself say goodbye. She could let him go.

It was the only real way to save him... to break the soul binding. He could be reborn again, yes. But he wouldn't feel his soul pulling him back to Sleepy Hollow. He would be able to grow old. He could have a long and happy life, even if it wasn't with her.

"You're misunderstanding, Abigail... By breaking the cycle I can be set free."

"What do you mean?" Abbie asked.

"The spell Katrina cast," Ichabod replied. "It's also what is binding you to Sleepy Hollow. Set me free, you are set free too."

Abbie thought a moment. Yes... yes... it was amongst the papers. The forbidden spell that had gotten her imprisoned in Purgatory! 

"I got it," Abbie said. "If I break the cycle... you will be set free."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Somewhere close by she was resting... healing... 

When she opened her eyes, she was on the table in the cabin. She gasped loudly as breath refilled her lungs. Pain... so much pain when that happened. Almost instantly she was flanked by Corbin and Gracie. "Oh thank God," Corbin groaned with relief. Gracie threw her arms around Abbie's neck when he sat up

"You held out for three days this time, Mills," Corbin scolded. "I thought you were gone for good."

Abbie held Gracie at arms length. "I have something to do. You're not going to like it, but it has to be done."

"What do you mean?" Gracie asked. 

"I have to break Katrina out of Purgatory," Abbie said, her tone stern and true. "And then we're getting your father back."

Gracie shook her head. "I have plenty of witches at your disposal, mother, there is no reason to set her free..."

Abbie pulled Gracie's forehead to hers. "Yes there is. Purgatory is too good for her. She betrayed my trust. She hurt you. She did unforgivable things to your father... I want to make sure she burns."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Abbie's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: This chapter contains graphic details of violence, abuse, and slavery. It also contains death, murder, and suicide.

She raised her head as the skin flap was moved away from the entry to the small building they kept her in. A feeling she had no name for yet seized the beating in her chest, making it thrum faster and harder. Her hands and feet were bound and she didn't know why. Just that every day the tall man would come in and ask her one question. 

"Are you dead yet?"

There was only two answers she could give. They were the only two words her village had allowed her to learn besides the words that left the man's lips. Her mouth was dry from breathing in the dirt she had been forced to sleep in for as long as she could remember. Occasionally she would feel weak and everything would go dark, but she would awake again when they nudged her with their cane.

She had spent her entire life, as far as she knew, in this place. No one ever came close enough to touch her with their bare hands. They had a word they called her: Aje. It wouldn't be until later she would find out it meant 'witch.'

She tried to moisten her lips but her tongue felt just as dry as the rest of her mouth. "Yes?" she responded weakly.

That earned her a swift kick to her stomach, which sent her sidelong onto the dirt floor. "No," the man barked. "You not dead yet. No lies."

She had no idea what he was saying. But shortly after he stormed back out, she coughed up red and succumbed to the darkness as her tiny frail body convulsed. She was yet young and didn't understand why they were treating her the way they were.

  
#  


One day a woman came instead of the tall man. She brought a bowl of water and showed her how to wash her face. The woman yanked her up by the bindings around her wrists, taking care not to touch her, and dragged her outside into the blaring sunlight. She cringed against it, considering she had never really been out in it, just seen a sliver of it when the tall man would come in. Once her eyes adjusted she looked around and felt an unfamiliar lightness in her small body.

One day she would come to know it was called _light_. All she knew was that it felt like something she wanted to be in.

She was lined up with other people. She wondered if they had been kept the way she was. She imagined not, the way some of them clung to each other and cried when some men took the other away. One of the men dressed in finery stopped in front of her and peered down at her, cringing his nose. 

"What is wrong with this one?" he asked the tall man.

"Cursed," he replied. "Doesn't die."

The fine dressed man pursed his lips. "Do you have proof?"

The tall man took something from the fine dressed man and pointed it at her. It made a loud noise and she felt a sharp pain in her chest. A few minutes later she staggered to her feet, confused about what had just happened. It would be many years before she could recall what all had happened that day and what had been said.

The fine dressed man was barking with laughter. "Fatten it up and we'll see about taking it next time. They won't want to take it if it looks like it'll drop dead at any moment... regardless of whether it actually will or not. I know people that would pay a lot of money for something they can hunt numerous times." He slapped the tall man on the back and walked away to look at the others.

She was returned to the dark place. Only this time, when the tall man would come to ask if she was dead, he would throw something on the ground in front of her. Instead he barked a single word, "Eat."

She took whatever it was in her hands. "No?" she asked, not really sure how she was supposed to answer this new order so she used the other word they gave her to answer. What exactly was she supposed to do with it? 

The tall man frowned and knelt down in front of her. He took the thing from her and put it to her mouth. "Eat." He pulled a piece of it off and put it in his mouth.

She watched him do it a couple more times then mimicked his actions. It was the first time she recalled ever eating. It was also the first time he didn't kick her for giving an incorrect answer.

  
#  


She wasn't sure what was happening. All she knew was that when she fell into the darkness this time, images played across her mind. She was remembering the warmth that had been on her face. She imagined the warmth surrounding her and filling her.

Then she had awoken and waves of the warmth were swirling all around her. She could hear voices on the other side. When the light subsided, the tall man and several others of the village were on the ground, bowing to her reverently.

The tall man stepped forward and removed the bindings from her wrists and ankles. They brought her blankets to sleep on. People from the village came in, bringing her things she was told she could "eat" or "drink." Some would press their lips to her hands, others her feet. She almost wept any time the people touched her because the sensation overwhelmed her and made her fill with the light again.

They started teaching her more words which she learned with ease.

She was taught she had been born under peculiar stars. The stars had made them fear her because they said darkness would constantly seek her out. But they had learned she was to not be feared but worshipped. They started calling her a new word: Oriṣa

The fine dressed man returned after a time. The tall man and the villagers refused to let him take her. When she had forbid it, they wouldn't even let him take any of the other villagers. If she could not go, none of them would go. 

So the coward stole her while she slept.

  
#  


She felt sick. The stench was terrible. Some of the others were dead, rotting where they had expired. Every now and then some of the men would come down into the belly of the ship and carry out the dead, then serve things to eat with the same hands. She tried to make the light that had once surrounded her return, but she couldn't even summon a tiny spark.

Dead. That is what they called the people that didn't breathe and who had vacant eyes. 

Once a day, one of the men came down, giving bread to those that were still alive. She took up her meagre serving and split it amongst those who were nearer to her. She knew she didn't have to eat to survive. They did. Upon seeing her actions, the man approached her and knelt down in front of her.

"Eat," he said, offering her another small piece. She shook her head and divided it amongst those she had been unable to share with the first time. The man sighed heavily and gave her the last bit of bread, barely two bites worth. "Come on little one, eat it, I don't know when I can sneak more down," he said, pain in his eyes and voice. He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. "This isn't what I signed up for... You're a human being. You're a child."

She broke the small portion of bread into two pieces. She ate half and offered the other to the man. "Eat," she said quietly, tilting her head quizzically. Tears filled his eyes as he took her offering and walked away. Not long after, she looked around and saw him hanging from one of the rafters by a rope. 

She was confused about how the others so easily became one of the dead.

  
#  


The shipmen howled with laughter as she staggered around, trying to find her footing as the ship would rise and fall with the sea. The fine dressed man had told the captain about what had happened the first time she met him and the captain had shown the sailors. They decided it would be entertaining to watch her impale herself on their swords because she was unused to walking above deck.

Each time she collapsed, she would slow her breathing. Everything would fade to black. Then she would sit up again.

By the sixth day, she learned how to stand steady and move with the flow of the ship. Something about the seventh day when she stood steadfast and glared at them with challenge in her eyes had made them stop laughing. She wasn't sure what happened, because she blacked out without being impaled. When she blinked back awake, four of the men had her pinned down putting her shackles back on.

They threw her in a cargo space separate from the others, alone and chained her to the floor. "What the hell are you?" one of them asked. He looked at one of the other men. "She snapped their necks without even touching them."

"I was there. I saw it," his companion replied shakily. 

"I am... human being," she said sternly, echoing the words of the kind man with the bread. She held her head high. "I am... child."

"I don't know what you are," the first one said. "But you sure as hell are not human."

Then she was shut in the darkness. The only time they spoke to her for the rest of the trip was to lift the gate once a day and ask, "Are you dead yet?"

Only, instead of being afraid as she once had been with the tall man, she would face sailors with her head held high and reply, "No."

  
#  


"Last one," the men called out to people as they passed by. "Discounted. Price negotiable."

An older, pale man with a dark skinned woman at his side approached the men. Both the new man and the woman looked unimpressed with her. "Why is she discounted?" the new man asked.

"She can't be branded," the shipman said. "About ten people have tried and returned her." He cast a hesitant glance in her direction. "We want her off our ship."

The pair walked over to study her. "What do you think Marie?" the man asked, kneeling down to look into her eyes. 

"She is young," the dark skinned woman said tartly. "Maybe she will not already have bad habits." She looked at the sailor. "What is she?"

"I am human being," she said. "I am child."

There was silence for a long moment, the pair was taken aback. "Nigerian," the shipman said, his voice wavering. "Some kind of royalty in her village too. Shoulda seen the set up we got her from. So all things considered, a good deal for... sixty?"

"Nigerian," Marie scoffed. "I don't know... that sort tends to be violent."

The pale man stood to his full height. "She speaks English... That's unusual."

The shipman shrugged. "Not sure how much she speaks."

"Forty and you have a deal," the pale man said, holding out his hand in invitation.

The shipman shook his hand. "Come on over and we'll get you the paperwork on her. You'll have to find a way to identify her as yours... Like I said, brands don't take on her. But she's sturdy and we're sure she'll be a good replacement for your matron when the time comes."

"Marie, take her to the carriage," the pale man said.

Marie took her hand and lead her to a battered carriage. The older woman opened the door and lifted her onto the floor inside, then pointed to the seat. She shuffled over and sat down. Shortly thereafter, the pale man came to offer Marie a hand into the carriage and got in behind her. Their faces were stern, it reminded her of the tall man from her village, before they had approved of her.

"I don't know, Master Corbin," Marie sighed as he closed the carriage door. "It will take a lot of work to get her in shape."

_Master Corbin_ shut the linen curtains over the windows. Suddenly the stern faces disappeared and he smiled as he took Marie's hand and kissed her fingers. "Happy Birthday my love," he said affectionately.

Marie smiled sweetly at her. "She's beautiful, August." She leaned forward and cupped her cheek. "Don't worry little one... we're going to make sure you have a very happy home." She looked over her shoulder at August. "Did she have a name?"

He shook his head. "I thought I would leave that up to you my dearest. She was on their books a Female number 67."

"What is your name, little darling?" Marie asked. She looked at the older woman confused. Marie touched her own chest. "Marie Corbin." She touched August's arm. "August Corbin." She touched her tiny knee and looked at her expectantly.

She tried to decipher what the woman was wanting. The pale man had called the woman Marie. She had called him August. Perhaps they wanted to know what she was called? She put a hand over the woman's. "Marie Corbin." She pointed to the man. "August Corbin." She put a hand to her own chest and frowned. What had the people of her village been calling her before she had been stolen and put on the ship? They had once called her Cursed, but they had called her something else near the end. "Oriṣa... Oshun."

The pair shared a look. "Oriṣa," Marie said quietly. "Oriṣa... Goddess! Those thick headed fools..." She looked at August. "Her people didn't see her as royalty. They thought she was their _Goddess_. Oshun is a beautiful name... but I always wanted to name our daughter Grace Abigail... after both of our mothers."

"It's up to you, my dove."

Marie put a hand to her chest. "Mama." She touched August's arm again. "Papa." She took her small hands and kissed them. "Grace Abigail Corbin."

She touched Marie's hand. "Mama." She pointed to August. "Papa." She touched her own chest. "Grace Abigail Corbin."

That was the first time she had been given an actual name.

  
#  


"Coming now to thee. Wash me. Cleanse me. In the blood that flow'd on Calvary..." Abbie dropped her hands from behind her back and felt her face warm when Mama and Papa applauded her at the conclusion of the hymn.

Two years. That was how long it had taken her to learn the song. She had planned it for her "birthday" and they seemed delighted by the treat of her singing to them to celebrate the day they had brought her to their home.

"That was beautiful, Abbie," Mama said, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Like an angel," Papa said. He stood and hugged her tightly. "I could listen to you sing all day and never get tired of hearing it."

Their home was a humble cabin in the woods outskirts of the village of Sleepy Hollow but it was a good home. Everyone thought mama and papa were a typical slave and master, but that wasn't the case. If anyone had bothered to look into it even the slightest bit, they would know August and Marie Corbin were actually husband and wife, and Marie had been a free woman for quite some time.

She had been free for several years when they met at the tender age of Mama being too old to have children of her own. Papa had been a widower who had been transfixed by the Virginian beauty in a white dress selling flowers. 

They settled in the New York colony, where no one cared about the races of a man and woman who wished to marry and had devised a plan to buy themselves a family one member at a time. They felt it had been sheer luck that they happened upon their Abbie that day. Children, especially girls, were often an expensive purchase but buying a slave and freeing it was cheaper and easier than a "single" man trying to adopt a child.

Since the purchase of Abbie, they had been trying to also purchase her freedom as well. But every time Papa had taken her into town to file her petition for freedom, the fee had gone up. A huntsman could only gain so much money at any given time of year and he wasn't nearly affluent enough to ask Lachlan Fredericks to help him with the fees.

And Abbie was in no immediate danger because Papa didn't have any children with his first wife that might want to sell her off when he died.

Abbie learned English with ease. Papa was even teaching her Latin from his Bible, which she was picking up just as easily. Abbie could speak so eloquently that one could not really tell she had been born over seas. What she didn't tell them was, at night when in her bedroom, she had managed to make the swirls of silvery white and blue energy come back. She hadn't really been able to produce them since being taken from her village.

Even now it was more of a soft wispy smoke rather than the waves she'd once made. She wasn't even sure how Mama and Papa would react to it. Would they react with fear, as her village once had? Or would they be even more proud of her?

The answer came a few days later when her and Mama were putting laundry out to dry. Papa was in the midsts of chopping wood when he dropped his axe to grasp his chest. Abbie and Mama rushed over just in time to catch him as he slumped to the ground.

"August! August," Mama called frantically, guiding him to the ground, his head in her lap. She stroked his face as he gasped for breath. "Say something August... What's happening?"

Abbie had seen that look plenty of times on the ship on the faces of the other people that she had been imprisoned with. It was followed by them stopping breathing and days later they would begin to rot. With tears in her eyes, Abbie concentrated on the warmth of Papa's hugs and the way he would kiss the top of her head at night before she went to sleep.

Her hands started to softly glow and she knelt down. She didn't want Papa to die. She wanted him to live. Abbie put her hands to his chest and he gasped loudly, his eyes growing wide. She hoped the small amount of light was enough.

When Papa's breathing smoothed out to normal, Abbie pulled her hands away. Papa blinked at her, Mama's mouth hung with her lips gently parted, her eyes wide with surprise. When Papa managed to sit up, he pulled Abbie into a tight embrace. "My sweet, beautiful angel..." he murmured against her hair. 

Papa looked to Mama. "Did you see what she did, Marie? Did you see that?" he asked.

Mama nodded, her eyes glimmering with tears. "I think I know why her village thought she was the goddess... Oh August, we have to take her to Lachlan... she's a witch. Our girl is a witch. Imagine the good she could do under the guidance of Lachlan's coven. He would probably cover the fees for her petition for freedom just so he could try and learn how to do what she just did."

Mama and Papa hugged her simultaneously. "I will write to him straight away," Papa said. "Maybe he'll get back quickly." He held Abbie at arm's length. "You have to be careful though, Abbie. Some people might try to use your abilities for nefarious reasons."

It wasn't until over 200 years later that she learned the ramifications of saving her Papa's life that day. It was only a few weeks before she would learn what kind of nefarious reasons people would use her abilities for.

  
#  


Abbie tried not to cry as the man dragged her from her house by a fistful of hair. It was the fine dressed man that had the sailors steal her from her village. "They were not supposed to sell you," he was saying. "Much less for the small amount they did... and to someone that wanted to _free_ you, no less. What a waste. It took me time but I finally found you."

He had some of his other men drag Mama and Papa out of the house as well.

At least she could say she had two years of love and affection in her life before he had found her. The fine dressed man turned to his men then nodded to Mama and Papa. "Kill them. It should be a while before anyone finds them at any rate and that way no one will try to come and find this little treasure trove."

Abbie clawed at the man's hand and tried to run back toward Mama and Papa. He caught her around her waist, she kicked and screamed, trying to escape. By time she did, gunshots rang out and Mama and Papa both slumped forward onto the ground. 

A few days later she was sold to the highest bidder willing to pay for a girl that couldn't be branded, bruised, but could be tortured as much as her buyer wanted.

  
#  


Abbie kept her skirts hiked up as she dashed through the woods. Tears burned her eyes as she tried to draw in deep enough breaths to keep her pace. She was confused. She felt lost and turned around as she tried to escape the group pursuing her. It was only a matter of time before they caught up. She may be younger and quicker, but she was being weighed down by the accursed skirts and stockings which seemed to only hold on to the mud and grime. Had she been born a man she would be able to get away easily because she would be wearing trousers and boots.

She would be able to climb a tree and leap limb to limb so the dogs could lose her scent. That was the trick, the boys all said. Climb upward and go over. The dogs would stay affixed to the one tree and the hunting party would waste their ammunition and gunpowder into a tree that held no prize.

She paused to catch her breath and looked around desperately. Surely she was getting closer to Sleepy Hollow. Maybe fortune would smile upon her and the heavens would guide her to the safe haven that was promised to runaways. She didn't recognize the forest like she had thought she would, despite spending two years roaming them with her father.

Cold sank into her bones quickly, making her shiver. She had to keep moving. She couldn't breathe, but if she stayed still too long her options were to take the cold or be captured and punished suitably for trying to escape.

Again.

This time they would probably try to burn her alive. The first time they had put her to a small firing squad, she hadn't stayed dead long. The last time she tried to escape, they had tried to hang her. That hadn't worked either. But that was what he had paid for.

She had changed homes several times. It was amazing how bored people became when the one they were torturing became defiant and wouldn't react to pain out of sheer determination.

At one point, it finally sank into her head that it wasn't that she had been lucky and survived all these years. She just couldn't--or wouldn't--die. Her most recent owner had tried to convince her that her inability to die meant God had ordained that she remain in his home and not punish her unless she attempted to escape.

In all, he had been the kindest so far... until he tried to make advances on her. So she had grabbed up a horseshoe and struck him across the face with it to make her escape.

Despite managing to get out of all her situations relatively unscathed, she didn't want to tempt fate too much. She never knew when she would die for the last time. The sound of baying hounds made her turn, her eyes wide with fear. It wasn't so much it was a hunting party after her, it was the fact they had faces of demons.

At first she had thought she was being plagued by visions of madness. Then she had thought maybe she was just seeing them as demons. Then one had caught up to her and she realized that he was in fact a demon. It was when she made the connection that she became less afraid of what her owner would do and rather what the creatures would do.

Hiking up her skirts again, Abbie started running once more. She had dawdled too long. They were going to find her. Abbie was so concerned with looking over her shoulder she hadn't seen the lone figure she was running headlong into, until it was too late.

She and the other figure tumbled to the ground and down a hill. They came to a rest at the bottom and a pale, red-headed girl peered down at her. "Are you all right?" the girl asked, her voice light and airy, as if she were caught in a dream.

"Help me," Abbie sobbed. "They are hunting me... their faces... they are... I cannot explain it... they had faces of pure evil."

She wasn't sure what the girl, who looked like she was barely the same age as she, could do against a horde of demons and hounds. Abbie just knew she was the first person that had been concerned about her state, rather than trying to wreck it. She scrambled back, untangling herself from the red-head as the demons made their way down the hillside.

The red-head turned toward her. "These men? They seek to harm you."

"They are not men, can you not see their faces?" Abbie shrieked. 

She looked toward the demon faced men then back to Abbie. "I can," she breathed. "But do not fear, Witness, no harm shall meet you today."

The girl held her hands at her sides, facing the men. Abbie was uncertain as to what she was saying, it sounded like a foreign tongue. Her fingers curled and dark waves emitted from her palms. 

Abbie's eyes widened and she looked at her own hands. Her energy were similar to the ones Abbie had been able to produce, once upon a time. However, her waves had been silvery white and the same pale blue of a clear sky. The girl seemed to have good control over hers. Abbie wondered if she could use her own waves to stop the men, now that she had a chance to concentrate. She hadn't been able to produce the light except once since she had been stolen from her parents, and that had been to subdue one of her owners long enough to escape.

Before she could even think to attempt it, the demon face men shrieked, releasing their hounds, which ran away from the girl fearfully. The men's bodies contorted and she heard the sickening crunch of bone and flesh. Soon their bodies dissolved into ash and embers and the girl stopped emitting the dark waves.

The girl slumped, panting heavily, before collapsing to all fours. Abbie scrambled forward, pulling her into her arms. "Are you well?" Abbie asked. Somehow the girl looked even more pale than before. She brushed tendrils of red hair away from the gossamer face, the young woman smiled softly.

"I was forbidden to use those powers lest the situation was dire," she said, clinging to Abbie as she sat upright. "They cause me to become weakened."

"Thank you," Abbie whispered. "I am Grace Abigail."

The red head touched her cheek affectionately. She gazed at Abbie in awe. "I am Katrina. Katrina van Tassel. They never said one of the witnesses would be a woman... nor so beautiful."

For a moment, Abbie felt herself getting pulled toward her eyes... those beautiful blue eyes... Abbie leaned in, wanting nothing more than to see if her lips were as soft as they looked. The moment her eyes closed, she felt the pull cease and she pulled back, shaking her head to clear it.

She pulled away from Katrina. Abbie blinked down at her hands, which were still gently fingering the vibrant red hair. She pulled her hands away from the tendrils. "Are you some kind of enchantress?" Abbie asked, scooting beyond the girl's reach.

Katrina blushed beautifully. "I apologize... If I use my forbidden powers, there is a brief period which I unintentionally enchant others. I have yet to learn to stop it, but I try." She closed her eyes and took in a slow breath. "Perhaps it is best you not touch me for now, until the effects of my magic subside. Touch seems to be how I am able to ensnare." She tilted her head. "However, it is not common that one can break the enchantment. You must possess truly strong magic."

Abbie looked down at her own hands again. "There was once... I did something similar to what you did. Except the waves were not dark."

Katrina scrambled to her feet. That was when Abbie noticed the girl wore only a threadbare shift and was barefoot. "Are you not afraid of taking a chill?" Katrina shook her head. "But you are nearly naked..."

"I can keep myself warm," she replied. Katrina knelt down, brushing fallen leaves into her hands before standing again. She pursed her lips and gently blew on the leaves. The foliage began to smoke then burn.

Abbie stared in amazement. "How... how did you learn such magic?"

Katrina smiled beautifully. "From my coven," she said softly. "Come with me... we can teach you. And protect you, witness." She turned and started up the hill, the fire becoming a shimmering orange orb in her hands. 

Abbie scampered along beside her. "You are a witch?"

"As are you," Katrina replied. "It is not so complicated as it seems. It is simply a matter of gaining control of nature around you and make it bend to your needs."

"I was journeying to the village of Sleepy Hollow," Abbie said after a long moment of silence. "I had heard there was a safe haven there for runaways."

"The safe haven you seek and the home of my coven are one and the same," Katrina replied. "The leader of the coven can help you gain your freedom from both the chains which seek to unwillingly bind you as an animal and keep you from using your magic."

After several more long minutes, the forest thinned out and gave way to an open field. A manor house stood out majestically in the growing darkness of nightfall. But the house looked anything but open and inviting. Katrina paused and looked to Abbie. "You must declare that you seek sanctuary and come in peace."

"I..." Abbie said with uncertainty. "I come in peace and seek sanctuary?"

Katrina continued onward. After about two steps, the air shimmered blue around her. Abbie followed and when she reached the space that had shimmered, the manor was suddenly alight and shined like a beacon of hope. This was the place Papa had wanted to bring her to... "Wards are in place that give protection to our kind and those who need sanctuary. Anyone that seeks you with ill intent will not see you as you are, but as someone else."

Abbie followed her to an entry at the back of the house that led up a narrow stairwell. _A servant's corridor_ , she noted. Katrina soon opened another door that led them into a library. Abbie's eyes widened at the amount of books. _So many books_ , she had longed to learn to read them, perhaps she could in this place.

Mama had never learned to read and Papa had barely been able to write, much less read anything other than his bible. She was actually amazed he had managed to write a letter the owner of the sanctuary. 

"Sir," Katrina said softly.

A man seated at a desk near the fireplace sighed heavily, "What is it, Katrina? I was not aware the sisters had permitted your return."

"I bring to you one seeking your protection," Katrina replied. "She was being pursued by the hordes of Moloch."

The man removed his spectacles and peered around Katrina. The annoyed expression on his face turned awed and he put the spectacles down on his desk as he stood. "She is... one of the witnesses," he said, walking around Katrina to take Abbie's hand and bow over it. "It is truly an honour to grant you sanctuary."

"What do you mean by witness?" Abbie asked.

"In good time, madam," he said. "I am Lachlan Fredericks. And I welcome you into my home."

"Miss... Katrina said that you could teach me to use magic," Abbie said.

"We can teach you anything you please," Lachlan replied. He looked at Katrina pointedly. "You may retire to your quarters." Katrina gave a respectful curtsey and made her exit, Abbie watched her go. Once the servant's door closed behind her, Lachlan gave Abbie a warm smile. "You look so young to have the fate which is attached to your soul... How old are you?"

Abbie thought a moment. "Twenty... four... I think, sir."

"What is your name?" He escorted her to a seat at the desk then returned to his own on the other side. He removed a book from his desk and took a quill.

"Grace Abigail, sir," Abbie replied. "It was the name given to me by my mama when her and papa bought me."

"We've already one Grace Abigail. Do you mind going by Abigail?" Abbie shook her head. It had been the name Mama and Papa called her by. "You wouldn't be... August Corbin's daughter, would you?" 

Abbie nodded mutely. "They were killed and I was stolen from my home."

Lachlan nodded sadly and turned to a blank page in the book and scribbled her name down. "Yes... I had gone to personally fetch you and your family to bring you here. I wanted to see first hand what he had meant by you saving him with a light. Myself and my house matron were the ones to discover... the devastation. It may take some time, but I can grant you the freedom and protection you desire. In the meantime, you are free to do whatever you please. Is there anything you want or need until I can get you your documentation?"

Abbie smiled brightly. "Yes... I would like to learn to read... and..." she looked down at her muddy skirt. What would he say to a bold request? "May I wear trousers, sir? I would like to be able to run freely should I have need. And to ride a horse... and... and..." She bit her bottom lip when his eyes danced with laughter. Looking down at her hands, she muttered, "My apologies, sir. I was getting carried away."

"It is only natural, Abigail," he replied. "But, your requests are... easily met. I will see to all of them. Perhaps you could even help me once you have learned to read and ride. However, I see no need for you to ever to have to run again."

"And use magic?" Abbie asked. "Katrina said it was simple... that I needed only to learn how to bend nature to my needs."

Lachlan frowned. "Whilst I cannot dictate to you to whom you trust, Abigail, I would recommend not convening overly much with Miss van Tassel. Her soul is full of darkness and could prove a detriment to your fate."

Despite his warnings, after Mister Fredericks had taken her to the servants to be cleaned up, Abbie found herself seeking out the girl with fiery hair. How could someone that had saved her life be full of darkness? She wasn't certain what lead her, but she soon found herself standing at Katrina's beside, dressed in trousers and a shirt. Katrina smiled sweetly at her.

"Why are you dressed as a man?" she asked softly. 

"I am going to learn to be a gentleman," Abbie said, pleased with herself. She climbed into the tiny bed with Katrina. "Is it safe to touch you yet?"

"I suppose," Katrina replied. 

Abbie took one of her hands and hugged it to her own chest. When she didn't feel the unnatural pull from earlier, she felt it safe to speak. "Lachlan says your soul is full of darkness and that you could prove detrimental to my fate."

"He is correct," Katrina said. "Perhaps it is for the best that you not associate too closely with me."

"You saved me when you needed not do so, using magic you were forbidden to use," Abbie said. "At great risk to yourself... A soul full of darkness would not do such a thing. Perhaps it is part of my fate to help you find the light within your soul and vanquish the darkness."

"Yes," Katrina breathed, her eyes filling with tears. "Perhaps you may succeed."

  
#  


"It's... beautiful," Katrina whispered as Abbie managed to make a shimmering white orb form between her hands. "The product of a pure soul, no doubt."

Abbie giggled and let it dissipate. "You are too kind, Kitty Kat."

Katrina's eyes sparkled adoringly at her. "I am honest, my dearest Gracie."

Abbie felt her cheeks warm. Katrina was the only one in the house to call her 'Gracie' just as she was the the only one to call Katrina 'Kitty Kat'. Then again, she was practically the only one to associate with Katrina. The servants would treat Katrina like she was made of delicate glass and as if she would break at any moment. The other witches hardly acknowledged Katrina's existence unless they needed her to increase their numbers for a spell.

She couldn't understand why they feared Katrina so much; she was obviously powerful, yes, but power was not a reason to fear someone. Abbie herself was constantly being told she was capable of great power, yet they did not seem to fear _her_.

"Your turn, Kitty Kat," Abbie chimed.

Katrina blushed a lovely pink and shook her head. "I mustn't... What if I cannot control it?"

Abbie took Katrina's hands in her own. "I trust you are able. You have come a long way since we have met."

"But if I cannot, your trust will have been misplaced and I cannot bare the thought of losing such a precious gift," Katrina said, shaking her head again.

"Please, Kitty Kat?" Abbie asked. "Trust yourself as I trust you. Focus on the light I know is inside of you."

When adoration shined in her friend's eyes, Abbie knew she had convinced her to at least try. Katrina shifted back to give herself room. She closed her eyes to concentrate. The waves of magic started like wisps of purple smoke.

"You're doing great, Kitty Kat," Abbie encouraged, despite the fact it was dark magic seeping from her friend's soul. "Focus on something that fills your heart with love, give the light the strength it needs to grow."

A soft smile formed on Katrina's lips. The waves lightened, turning a soft lilac which mingled with the dark to form a swirling orb. The light Abbie had known her friend was capable of sparkled through the orb.

"Oh, Kitty Kat," Abbie breathed in awe. "It's beautiful."

Katrina opened her eyes and choked back a sob. "I have done it," she said, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. "Oh my beautiful Gracie..." The orb dispersed in a small spark when Katrina threw her arms around Abbie's neck. "If I can show the sisters... I can prove I am capable of overcoming the darkness."

Abbie held Katrina at arms length and cupped her cheek. "Just hold on to whatever it is that filled your heart with love. Love is powerful magic. It is the only magic that can vanquish the darkness."

Katrina put her hand over Abbie's, nuzzling against her palm. "Love was something that had alluded me until recently. I did not even think I was capable of it or that I was deserving of it."

"Everyone deserves love, Kitty Kat, especially those who have been denied it," Abbie said. She wanted to add on that she knew that much to well, having very rarely experienced love and having it ripped away from her with ease when she did have it.

"It was my love for you which helped give me light," Katrina admitted, her pale cheeks turning a soft pink.

Abbie smiled brightly when Katrina looked away shyly. "Our friendship gives me power as well, my dearest Kitty Kat, it is nothing to be ashamed of."

Katrina blush turned deep red. "Of... of c-course it's not," she stammered.

Abbie took Katrina's hands. "Let's go show Lachlan. Surely he will permit you to practice with the coven once he sees. And we ca continue to give each other strength and light."

  
#  


"Look at that studious Miss Harris, with her nose forever in a book."

Abbie looked up and smiled when she heard Katrina's gentle teasing. Katrina was standing in the door of the library, in a new lilac frock, her red hair in an elegant up-do. Abbie put a finger to her lips. "Shh... it's _Mister_ Harris right now," Abbie whispered conspiratorially, setting her book aside.

When she had been choosing her surname once free, she had opted to go with Mama's maiden name. The man that had taken her from her parents knew the name Corbin too well, and Abbie hoped going by Harris would make it harder for him to find her. Not to mention, the Harris family that resided at the manor was more than happy to include her in their family.

She stood and bowed respectfully toward Katrina. "Miss van Tassel," Abbie said. She walked across the room and took Katrina's pale hand. It was funny how Abbie always thought she would accidentally shatter the delicate hand resting in her own, yet those hands were capable of such fiercely strong magic.

"Mister Harris," Katrina responded, giving a polite curtsey. She covered her mouth to hide a giggle when Abbie kissed the back of her hand. "Why must they make you wear that silly facial hair, Gracie?"

Abbie stood to her full height and joined Katrina in soft laughter. "Do you not care for your suitors to have facial hair, Katrina?"

Katrina wrinkled her nose when she touched the faux hair on Abbie's face. "I loath it. It is so scratchy and rough," she said. "How can one call themselves a gentleman whilst feeling like a ruffian on a lady's flesh? I love your face when it is gentle and soft... not adorned with this... travesty."

"My face being feminine is the reason I must wear it," Abbie sighed. "It makes the magic more believable. Otherwise they may catch on that I am actually a woman instead of a very handsome man," She offered her arm to Katrina. "Shall I escort my lady to tonight's gala?"

"Only if I may fill my dance card with your name," Katrina replied, easing her hand into the crook of Abbie's elbow.

"You must save at least a few lines for other gentlemen, Miss van Tassel. It would not do well to make them jealous and try to do me harm for being greedy with a radiant angel such as yourself," Abbie reminded. She had seen what happened when an unmarried woman kept herself to only one dance partner. A beating was the least of Abbie's concerns, she could handle a beating. What she couldn't handle was the whispers that would make their rounds and Katrina's budding reputation being in shambles by night's end.

"Then at least one dance," Katrina pleaded. "Promise me..."

Abbie smiled. "All right. Save me a dance and we shall."

"You shall always have a space on my card, Gracie," Katrina said sweetly. "Regardless of what costume you must wear."

Abbie nudged her with her shoulder. "It's Mister Harris," she reminded in a hushed tone. "We can't act to familiar... people will talk and you will never find a good husband."

Katrina drew in a sharp breath, her body going ridged. "And if I do not care to find a husband," she asked. "What if I desire to grow into an old spinster with you?"

"You are too beautiful to have your life wasted as a spinster, Kitty Kat," Abbie replied. "Besides, you never know, even I could one day find someone. Perhaps he will have a friend or brother that you will take a liking to, or vice versa, and we could raise our children as brothers and sisters."

Katrina smiled enigmatically. "Then perhaps our husbands will die at war and we can live together as widows, raising our children in Sleepy Hollow."

Abbie cast a glance at Katrina from the corner of her eye. She told herself that it was just the remnants of the darkness that had ruled Katrina's heart for so long, still lingering. Although the coven had actually started teaching her to use her magic, their faith in Katrina was still guarded. They had doubt the darkness would ever truly go away, just lay dormant as Katrina's ability to harness the light grew stronger.

But to talk about the deaths of people that theoretically may never exist with a smile on her face. It made Abbie consider the perspective of the coven on the matter of Katrina. _No, no,_ she told herself. She had to continue to have faith that Katrina could overcome the darkness. It would just take time.

Katrina paused and turned to face Abbie. "I can solve this once and for all," she said when Abbie faced her in return. She held out her hand. "Let me see your palm." Abbie sighed and removed the glove from her right hand and offered it to Katrina. Katrina delicately traced the lines of her palm, a soft smile on her lips. "You have such beautiful hands, Gracie. Soft and gentle... yet so powerful." Her finger traced the line that followed the mound of her thumb. "Very long life line." She clasped her hands around Abbie's and closed her eyes, breathing in slowly.

Abbie felt her heart beat rapidly. It almost seemed as though her heart had travelled to her hand. She had heard Katrina was gifted at seeing the future from some of the servants of the house. "The clock strikes the witches hour on the night of the full moon," Katrina whispered. "Your truest love bares the gift of hecatolite. He..."

Katrina gasped softly and released Abbie's hand. A solitary tear streaked down her pale cheek. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to find the words to say. She swallowed hard, putting the back of her hand to her lips. "I have suddenly taken ill," she said weakly. "Forgive me, Gracie, but I must retire."

"Kitty Kat?" Abbie called questioningly. "What's wrong? What did you see?" 

Katrina had already slipped into the servants corridor and disappeared. Abbie found her not long thereafter, curled up in her bed with her back to the doorway. Katrina was sobbing hard, her face buried in her threadbare pillow. Abbie felt she should comfort her dearest friend, but she wasn't exactly sure what she was supposed to be comforting her over. What had Katrina seen?

"Her beautiful dark heart is broken," a voice whispered from the darkness.

Abbie turned to see four young witches at the edge of the shadows in the corridor.

"What precious little light Katrina had is fading," one of the others said.

"Sadly she does not realize," another added.

"There is a difference between love and obsession," the fourth witch finished.

Abbie drew in a deep breath. The four who spoke as one. They, like Katrina, had been forbidden by Lachlan from learning actual magic until they could prove they would use their powers for good. Unlike Katrina, the four witches made Abbie's skin crawl and left a foul taste in her mouth. "You don't know her like I do," Abbie said in a low, dangerous tone. The four stepped back when her hand went to a knife she kept on her at all times. "So keep her name off of your mouths."

Each of the witches giggled in turn, making it sound like a long, ghostly laugh.

"The witness likes to think she is a man," the first witch said.

"Wanting to desperately defend an honour that does not exist."

"You should leave her be."

"Before she costs you the lives of all those you hold dear."

Abbie scowled at the witches, removed the fake facial adornments and tiptoed into the room. She eased into the tiny bed behind her friend and wrapped her arms around the taller red-head. "I apologize," Abbie murmured, despite not knowing what she could possibly be apologizing for. She hadn't asked to have Katrina look into her future.

But now she really wished Katrina hadn't.

  
#  


Abbie marched down the ranks of new recruits. "Who here is afraid to fight me?" she asked, turning to address the men. She took several paces backward and looked down the line. "Well? I don't see any of you stepping forward, so are all of you afraid?"

The men glanced between themselves. Finally one spoke up, "Forgive me for saying, Lieutenant. It is not so much that we are afraid of you... It's..." he broke off and looked hesitant to continue.

Abbie clasped her hands behind her back and gave the recruit a look that both waited for him to finish and dared him to finish. "Go on," she said when he refused to finish. "We're all dying to hear it, Mister Crane."

"Your stature is considerably smaller than ours," Crane continued. His eyes glimmered with amusement when she narrowed her eyes at him. "It would not be a fair fight."

She was starting to regret saving that man's life. He was infuriatingly cocky and striving to constantly be near her. "As a deflector from the crown, Mister Crane, I'm sure you are already aware that war is never fair," Abbie replied. "And I assure you, my stature is not a hindrance to putting in a good fight."

She was about to show him precisely how good she was at fighting when one of the other men boldly quipped, "And you're a woman."

"Who said that?" Abbie barked.

Every eye went to a portly man near the end of the line. Abbie strode down the line and faced him. "Repeat that for me, sir?"

He leaned forward. She held her ground valiantly as he slowly and loudly repeated, "You're a woman."

Abbie batted her lashed and smiled tightly. "Do you know the difference between the way a woman fights and a man fights, sir?" she asked, using a voice very similar to Katrina's wispy tone.

"No, _ma'am_ ," he groused. "What is the difference?"

Abbie grasped his shirt collar bashed her forehead into his face, followed by a quick elbow to the back of his head, sending him sprawling on the ground. "A woman doesn't care whether her opponent is a man or woman." She smoothed down the front of her coat and hoped they believed it to be the man's blood on her forehead, considering she knew she would hold no marks for it. "A man will not hesitate to stab his brothers in the back if it will give him social or political gain." She drew her sword and put it to one of the man's chests. "A woman is bold enough to go straight for the heart. Because she knows that is where you are weakest."

"Bitch." Abbie looked down to her feet at the source. He was on all fours, trying to get back up.

Abbie put the heel of her boot on his hand and bore down hard. The man made an ungodly racket. "I don't recall giving you permission to get up." She put away her sword. "Now... any one else care to question my sex?" She looked down the line. They all solemnly shook their heads, except for one infernal bastard who did so with a wicked smirk. "Is something funny, Mister Crane?"

"No, sir," he promptly replied. "It's just you are proving why fighting with one of smaller stature is not a fair fight."

Abbie picked her foot up off the man's hand. "Get up and get back in line," she snapped. "I will not tolerate snivelling man-children in my ranks." She marched down the line to Mister Crane and faced him. "One more quip over my height and you will be cleaning the horse stalls tonight. One stall per comment." She continued down the line. "Now, gentlemen, that you understand women are just as easily a formidable foe as any man... Who wants to be the first to fight me?"

Several hours later, Abbie walked into her quarters and plopped onto her bed to tug off her boots. A gentle weight come down on the mattress behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see Katrina seated near her pillow, beaming a smile at her. "I have prepared you a basin of water and whilst you prepare for bed, I will fetch you supper."

Abbie shook her head, removing her coat and vest. "No supper for me," she said. "And I am only changing my boots before I go check on a recruit I had to send to the stables." When Katrina looked crestfallen, she added, "But I could definitely use it once I return."

"How goes the training with the latest group of men?" Katrina asked.

Abbie rolled her eyes and groaned, "They are the usual fair of inexperienced boys and determined deflectors and one man who thinks it wise to make snide comments that his lieutenant is a woman."

"Cleaning the stalls is too good of a task for someone that treats you unfairly for being a woman, when you are his superior," Katrina huffed.

"No, the stalls are for the gentleman that kept making cheeks at my height," Abbie replied. "He is fortunate I was in a fair mood and took them as the jests they were."

It was Katrina's turn to roll her eyes and groan. "That insufferable Mister Crane again? Should I ever meet this man, I shall show him that taller individuals are willing to slap him since you cannot reach."

It took a moment for it to register that Katrina, too, had just made fun of her height. "Why my height? Why?" Abbie cried, laughter in her voice. "Of all the features that I have no control over, why my height?"

Katrina leaned in and put her forehead to Abbie's. "Because it is the only thing you do not get offended by. Not really. Your blood boils when they call you a woman. Your eyes fill with fire when they mock your race. But your height... you use it as an advantage, so you do not see it as an insult."

Abbie put a quick kiss on the tip of Katrina's nose and leaned back. Katrina giggled and rubbed her nose. "Would you mind too terribly on helping get this binding off? It has grown loose from sweat and moving and has twisted uncomfortably in places."

Katrina nodded her head and got up to scamper around the bed. Abbie stood and drew her shirt up just high enough to give her access to the wooden clothes pins that kept the binding in place at her back. It was funny how Katrina took so much delight in helping her prepare for bed... she would make someone a fine wife someday. Katrina's warm hands skimmed over her skin once the binding was off.

"This binding is barbaric," Katrina said, sounding close to tears. "I am surprised you have no bruises. How much longer must you continue to wear it?"

"It is no more binding than a corset," Abbie replied. "We all choose our prisons. Mine just hides my femininity rather than celebrates it."

Katrina slid her arms around Abbie's waist and kissed the top of her head. "I like your femininity."

Abbie patted Katrina's hands. "I know, Kitty Kat. Now, let me go make sure this recruit hasn't fallen asleep in the middle of his task."

Katrina released her and moved back to the other side of the bed. "Shall I fetch the basin before you leave?"

Abbie smiled softly. "You will make a man a very dutiful wife some day," she said. "Keep watch on the stables. When you see me returning, warm some fresh water and I will have your help at that time."

Abbie took leave of the quarters and made her way to the stables. Much to her surprise, over half of the stalls had already been cleaned. However, Mister Crane was nowhere to be seen. "Mister Crane?" she called. "You haven't fallen asleep have you?"

She heard the slosh of water and walked toward it. The found the source was her diligent worker, cleaning himself off with water from a barrel. "I saw you coming and did not wish to show you insult by being filthy," he drawled. 

Abbie carefully removed the tie at her neck. "I have doubt you have ever truly experienced being filthy, Mister Crane. Perhaps it will do you well to have this kind of punishment," she said in a low tone. She unwrapped the soft material from around her collar then tugged at the delicate strands that held the collar closed. "And you still have _yet_ to fight me."

His eyes went to the charm she had kept concealed under her uniform all day, then a gentle smile touched his lips. "If it is a tussle you wish to engage in, Lieutenant, there is plenty of space in the loft," he murmured, touching the stone with the tips of his fingers.

Abbie breezed past him, stopping at the ladder that ascended into the loft. "Challenge accepted, Mister Crane," she said with a smile and climbed up. It wasn't long before she heard him follow behind her and pull up the ladder to assure their "fight" would not be interrupted.

A peel of laughter escaped her lips when he hoisted her over his shoulder and gave her backside a playful swat before carrying her off to a secluded area of the loft. He had even lain out his coat on a bed of loose straw in anticipation of their tussle.

Neither was really sure who ended up winning the fight. Both agreed that since all parties involved were naked, breathless, and very satisfied they could perhaps call it a draw. Abbie pulled on her shirt once she had recovered her breath--much to the dismay of her partner. She swatted at his hands as he tried to draw her back, but she was having none of it since the horses had been behaving nervously near the end of their liaison.

After cautiously peering down to make sure there was no one causing fuss, she returned to her love. They had reasoned the horses just hadn't liked the amount of noise they had been making near the end. However, if Abbie had looked just outside the reach of the lantern light inside the barn, she probably would have noted the patch of grass that had shrivelled to delicate ash. She may have also noticed a matching path following along behind the red-headed witch with her fists clenched at her sides as she stormed back toward the manor.

  
#  


"Engagement party?" Katrina squeaked. "Just how long have you been keeping this from me? And _why_?"

Abbie absent-mindedly stroked the stone at her throat, which she had accidentally let Katrina see that morning. Normally she would be dressed enough by time Katrina awoke that all she did was help with her boots and coat. But that morning, Katrina had awoke early and caught her putting it on underneath her uniform. It hadn't been how she wanted her dearest friend to find out. As Abbie had anticipated, Katrina had not taken it well.

"Six months," Abbie replied. "We've been keeping it from everyone, not just you. You're the first person to be told. To be honest, if it wasn't for... the child... we would probably still be keeping it quiet."

Katrina cupped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide. "Child?" she yelped when she dropped her hands. "You are... with child?" She hurried over to Abbie and clasped her hands. 

Abbie felt her face warm. "I believe so," she said shyly. "My moon-tides are several days late."

"How many?" Katrina asked softly. "How many days?"

"Four or five," Abbie replied. "So it is still yet too soon to tell. But Ichabod is persistent we announce our engagement so as to prevent rumours if it is the case. Please, Katrina, it is important to me that you be there."

Katrina slowly mouthed Ichabod's name, trying to place who he was, then her face contorted into one of disgust. "Crane?" she scoffed. "But you are forever saying he frustrates you... that he infuriates you." She jutted up her chin in defiance. "I shall not attend. I refuse."

Abbie squeezed Katrina's hands gently. "Katrina..." Katrina poked out her bottom lip and huffed petulantly. "Kitty Kat..." She reached up and tucked the red strands of hair behind Katrina's ear. "Please? I love him. I can only hope you will do the same."

"I hate him," Katrina grumbled, eyeing the man in question from the window of their quarters. "I hate everything about him... He's tall."

"So are you," Abbie chuckled.

Katrina pursed her lips. "He has a beard, Gracie. How can you tolerate it?"

Abbie had to suppress a smile when she recalled some of the tender places the beard in question had teased. "It's... actually quite nice."

"He's..." Katrina huffed again. "He is a man!"

"I hadn't noticed," Abbie groused. She sighed and rubbed her temples. "Katrina... I understand that to you, his being a man is a disadvantage. But to me it is not. Now, please, will you attend the engagement party?"

"No!" Katrina shrieked. "I shall not!" She stamped her foot and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Abbie sighed heavily. She didn't have time for Katrina's childish outbursts, nor was she going to chase the woman down and beg forgiveness for something that didn't need forgiving. She was done apologizing for living her life while Katrina refused to move forward with her own. It had all been fine and well when they were younger. But Abbie herself was nearing her thirties. She wasn't getting any younger and Ichabod was... perfect.

And for the first time in her life, she could see herself living as a good wife and having a family of her own. She was a free woman! She was a military officer! All things considered, she had done very well for someone who had been kidnapped from her village at a young age, corralled onto a ship, and taken to a strange place.

Abbie understood very well that Katrina had been held captive by a dark coven and was still seeking the redemption Abbie herself had ended up getting. But it didn't excuse Katrina acting like a spoiled brat. Maybe it was that she had actually experienced real and pure love, where Katrina had been taught that love was a strategy.

Regardless... she had to wait for Ichabod to let her know he had told Lachlan and then she and the housemaids could set to preparing for the party, whether Katrina attended or not. 

A few hours later, Katrina sheepishly returned to announce she was being sent out on a spying mission. Abbie nodded with understanding. However, before she left, Katrina had left Abbie several small pockets of herbs. She said it was a tea that would help any child Abbie carried be steadfast and strong. If there wasn't one, and she was able, it could help her and Ichabod on their journey.

It was the closest Abbie would ever get to an apology from Katrina so she accepted the gift in good faith.

  
#  


Abbie stared down at the key in her hands blankly. It was funny how when one looked back, they could find no reason to help a person they had believed to be a friend. It wasn't until she had become pregnant with Gracie, without any influence from Katrina until much later, that she had found out the tea had actually been a means to keep her _from_ becoming with child.

She may have told Ichabod that it was because of his father's outburst... but it had been the weight of thinking she was unable to give him the family he deserved that had made her push him away. That _they_ deserved. 

Even though she had finally met up with Katrina again, both of their belly's heavy with children, Katrina had persisted in trying to get rid of the only thing Abbie had to hold on to Ichabod. Abbie couldn't recollect how many times Katrina had tried to push the increasingly bitter brew on her only for Abbie's pain to subside within minutes. Maybe it was after the third time Abbie started to only pretend to drink it and poured it out once Katrina thought she had drank enough to do the trick.

They had gotten separated again, once it came time for their children to be born. Katrina had fled to Lachlan's manor. Abbie had quickly discovered she could not leave Sleepy Hollow for some reason at that point and fled to the home she had intended to share with her love. She was never able to tell Katrina she couldn't leave the village and they happened upon each other again about two years later when the red-head stole away back into town in disguise.

Katrina had fallen in love with Gracie almost immediately, much to Abbie's surprise. Abbie took back to wearing her old uniform at that point because it would be easier to explain a child if everyone saw a man and a woman. 

In a way, Katrina had gotten what she had wanted... for it to only be the two of them. Gracie had just been a bonus. Looking back again, Abbie wondered if the only reason Gracie had been allowed to live as long as she did was because the only thing she had noticeably inherited from her father was bright blue eyes that were capable of melting the coldest of hearts.

Katrina wouldn't say what had happened to her own child, just that he was in safe hands.

However, without the protection of Lachlan and the coven, Abbie had soon found herself in trouble for pretending to be a man. They had run as far and fast as they could but there were only so many places to hide when one couldn't leave Sleepy Hollow.

"Are you sure about this, Abbie?"

Abbie raised her head to face the sheriff. She smiled softly. "I'm sure Papa," she said quietly.

She hadn't know, all those years ago--when she had harnessed the light to save his life from what they now knew to be a heart attack--that her inability to control the extent of which he would be saved would cause him to become just as hard to kill as she. He had finally re-emerged into her life shortly after Ichabod had died in the 20's... she had been a wreck and he had put a hand on her shoulder, offered her counsel, she had thrown her arms around his neck.

They had been side-by-side ever since, one never too far from the other.

"I can have some members of my coven come for added protection," Gracie offered. "Purgatory has probably weakened her but... as soon as she's out again there's no telling what she would be capable of."

"You listen here, missy," Corbin drawled. "Your mama alone could conjure up enough magic to level Sleepy Hollow if she wished. I think she can handle one woman."

Abbie stood and tucked the key into her pocket. "First things first..." She pointed at Corbin. "Never under-estimate a witch that is desperate. Two..." She looked at her hands and wriggled her fingers. "I haven't been able to properly produce my energies since... God, forever. I am about as useful as a kitchen witch."

"Hey," Gracie interjected. "One of the best witches I know is just a kitchen witch." She looked to Corbin. "Jennifer Mills... she mentioned you a few times..." She glanced to Abbie and hesitantly added, "And she's talked about you too."

"I can only imagine the colourful terms she had in relation to me," Abbie said flatly. "She blames me for everything that goes wrong with her family. And while she's... not exactly wrong... It's not like I can atone for sins that aren't really my own." She drew in a deep breath. "Gracie, I'm going to need your help to break the soul binding. Then I'm going to go get Katrina. We're going to see what she does when I ask her to wake your father up. We got to make her feel safe, which I know will be hard. But I have to know what her end game is. I need to know why she would do the things she did when we were..." Abbie's voice trailed off.

Close? Friends? 

No, a friend wouldn't do what Katrina had done to her. As for close, Katrina didn't even know she couldn't die. Abbie had never been open about all the things that had happened to her before they met. Mama and Papa had tried to get her to talk about her life before coming to America, but stopped when they realized it caused her distress. Only one person knew about what she called 'the dark times'... And unless they could get Ichabod back, no one else would ever know.


End file.
